


Subduction

by Schwep



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3002744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwep/pseuds/Schwep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A power altering Taylor joins Faultline's crew to pay for Danny's medical expenses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Subduction 1.1  
  
Daria looked over her city. Three gangs ruled her city. Two of them made up of racist bigots, the third managing to make the racist bigots look like fine upstanding citizens. A fourth group was trying to muscle in downtown. Coil employed skilled and well armed mercs, exclusively non-capes. They didn't sell drugs in any appreciable quantity and their protection fees were a token amount. _Probably a rich kid using Daddy's money to play supervillain._  
  
It was another day in the shithole known as Brockton Bay. A shithole that Daria had carefully chosen. Too shitty for anyone of authority to care about her and not shitty enough to call in the big guns. Of course with the way the world had been slipping it might be time to look for someplace less shitty. And away from the ocean, nuclear power plants, or people in general.  
  
The world had been sinking into oblivion two years ago. Now it was in free fall. _Maybe a bunker in the middle of the nowhere wouldn't be so bad?_  
  
Of course that would mean leaving behind one of the top nightclubs in the city. The Palanquin was an ideal avenue for her to launder her shadier payments while also providing a home base and a certain status. Running a popular nightclub was much easier when she didn't have to worry about profit. An average of a job every month provided enough currency to keep the club afloat and her and the crew in the lifestyle they were accustomed too.  
  
Leaving all that behind... ' _This is my stop, Got to get off, I might-_ ' Her phone interrupted her musings.  
  
“Ma'am, there's another one of those here to see you.” Rodriguez. Bouncer and watchdog for the Palanquin. Also responsible for the discreet sale of recreational materials inside of the club.  
  
“Costumed?”  
  
“No, ma'am.”  
  
Daria's expectations dropped from none to negative. “Seat him. I'll be down shortly.”  
  
“Yes, ma'am.”  
  
She stretched. Foregoing the rest of her costume Daria remained in her white blouse and pants, slipping on a pair of welding goggles as a concession to the unwritten rules. Faultline walked down the hall banging on the wall. “Newter, Gregor, possible recruitment. Get your asses up.”  
  
That the Palanquin was connected to Faultline was an open secret. A lot of new capes came to her because she was comparatively easy to find. On the one hand it made for easy recruitment, on the other hand most were rubbish and a waste of her time.  
  
Introducing himself outside of costume indicated newly triggered. Unless his power was extremely useful there would be little point in taking the effort to train him. _Or her_ , as Faultline looked at the girl who had bullied her way into the night club. Slouched figure, ratty clothes, oversized hoodie, oversized glasses, gawky physique. She sat up straight when she spotted Faultline.  
  
Faultline took a seat across from the girl, “You know who I am?”  
  
“I asked for you by name,” she snarked.  
  
 _Teenagers_ , Faultline suppressed a scowl, _unless she's the second coming of Scion..._ “Then you should know that I dislike people who waste my time, Miss?”  
  
“Hebert, Taylor Hebert. And you're going to hire me.”  
  
“You're a little young to be serving drinks.”  
  
“You're going to hire me for your other business.”  
  
“And why would I do that, Ms. Hebert?”  
  
“Give me two minutes,” Hebert grinned, “If you aren't happy with what I can do then, then throw me out the door.”  
  
Faultline simply nodded. There were simpler ways of getting close to Faultline than coming into enemy territory sans costume. Besides, Gregor was keeping watch from a room over with a large caliber rifle and Newter was monitoring from a video feed in the kitchen. Anything untoward and Hebert would soon be missing the top of her skull.  
  
Taylor Hebert closed her eyes. Faultline wasn't impressed. An ability that took minutes to charge up and required intense concentration... no. Faultline would let her down gently and with only a mild threat to keep her trap shut.  
  
She drummed her fingertips on the table, waiting for Hebert to finish so she could kick her out and continue with the day.  
  
Hebert opened her eyes and smiled. “There, done. For the next half hour your cutting ability extends as a three foot plane from your fingertips. It's a rush job so you can't adjust the distance yourself. It'd take me a couple hours of tinkering to get it just right.”  
  
Faultline raised an eyebrow. That was new. Fantastical even. If she was telling the truth... temporary modification of powers could be a gold mine. “Rodriguez,” she called and a man in a black t-shirt and jeans rushed out of the back. “Bring us refreshments and a chopping block.”  
  
“Yes, ma'am.” A few minutes later he came back with a pitcher of water, two glasses, and a chopping block on a tray.  
  
“Thank you, hold this out to the side and take three steps back. Now slowly come forward.” Faultline pointed a hand at the board. When the board reached three feet from the hand it split into two. Half landing on the ground with a loud thud. “Thank you, Rodriguez. That will be all. An impressive ability, Ms. Hebert. Water?”  
  
“Yes, please.”  
  
Faultline took two glasses off the tray, filled them from the pitcher, handed one to Taylor and drank first. “So why come to me?”  
  
“I'm not a Nazi, or Asian, and I need money not drugs. I sent an e-mail to New Wave and they sent me a reply about how they were above petty monetary concerns. There isn't anybody else to go to.”  
  
 _Not true, but why enlighten her?_ “What about the PRT?”  
  
“I can't go to them,” she took a sip, “Look, I figure that we shop around out of town for somebody who has a lot of cash and isn't too much of a headcase. We modify their powers for a lot of money. I pay off some medical bills and you keep most of the money.”  
  
“I don't think someone would pay that much money for thirty minutes with a different power,” Faultline said.  
  
“No, no, I can change them permanently. I just put a time limit on yours because it's a demonstration.”  
  
Faultline's mouth silently opened and shut a few times. Reevaluating priories, the nature of the universe, and whether that new wine vendor might be screwing her over. Of course the vendor was screwing her over, she made a mental note to drop him. “I'd have some favors that I'd need done.”  
  
“You know what?” Taylor started gesticulating, loosely waving her hand in a circle, “I'm fine with that. As long, as long as I get to say no to some of the things I'll do stuff.”  
  
“Does anyone know about your abilities?”  
  
“No, 'cuz I've been smart, see. I don't have to touch or talk or anything to people. I can just, just think about it. And poof, new powers.”  
  
“What about New Wave?”  
  
“Those bastards. 'Money is petty, now I'm just going to sit in my mansion drinking my champagne out of a shoe.' Bastards-”  
  
Faultline cut her off, “Did you tell New Wave about your powers?”  
  
“Nah. Just said that I had useful powers but couldn't use them in combat. Asked about pay 'cause I need money and then they started talking about how petty-”  
  
“Why do you need money?”  
  
“Merchants. Dad was visiting me at the hospital when they... so it's my fault isn't it. Stupid union can't keep stupid insurance so stupid hospital is taking all our money.”  
  
Faultline winced. Tension between the Azn Bad Boys and the Merchants had flared into a small gang war. A Merchant dealer had trespassed into ABB territory. The ABB had beaten and robbed him and the Merchants responded with a drive-by shooting. The ABB escalated to capes when Oni Lee had detonated a dozen clones in a Merchant gathering. The Merchants had then raided the hospital where the victims were being treated. While no one was quite sure why they would do something so moronic, the best theory was that the Merchants were trying to recover their own capes before they risked identification.  
  
“Does anyone know that you came here?”  
  
“Who's I gonna tell? Not like I'd tell those bitches.” Taylor half rose from her seat and started pounding the table with her index finger. “Let me, let me tell you about those bit-”  
  
“How did you find me?”  
  
“Well,” she slumped back, “I looked you up on the internet and it said that you cut things so I just looked around for people who cut things and then I found a person who cut things here and I asked the doorman to let me talk with you and he said he never heard of you but he's a really bad liar so I told him that he was a really bad liar and then he called for you and you came down and that's how I knew where you were. Am I talking too much because if I'm talking too much I can totally stop it. Stop talking too much I mean, because I totally-”  
  
“Why not the Protectorate? They would love to have someone with your abilities.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I can't. So I was at school and this one girl was all mean and I looked at her and I saw a spirit and I asked the spirit what it was doing and the spirit was all, 'Roar. Death. Doom. Destruction.' and I was all, 'No, that's wrong. Do it like that one purple unicorn and be all “Friendship is awesome,”' and it was all like, 'Doooooom,' and then I whacked it on the nose and told it happy thoughts. And then Armsomething, Armsie was all like 'Did you assault a Ward? Because that's very, very bad.' and I was all, 'No, I'd never do that.' but it turns out that I did because do you know what? Do you? Sophia is a Ward. So I can't go to the Protec-, the Protec-, them because they might think I was bad. You don't think I'm bad do you? Cause I'm not baaa-” Hebert's head drooped down, her forehead resting on the table, drool leaking out of the corner of her mouth.  
  
Faultline looked across at the teen. She changed the personality of a Ward? Possible Master? Faultline didn't feel any different, but then the victims never did. “Gregor, get her up to the spare room. Newter, wash that glass.” She pulled out her phone, “Sierra? I want you to stay the night at a hotel.. No, don't tell me which one... Yes, keep Lima with you... Possible Master... No, new recruit. I think she's harmless but then... Yeah, you'll give the second opinion. See you then. Bye.”  
  
She looked at the cutting board, down at her hand, raised her hand and cut the board a second time. She leaned back and started to weigh the risks and rewards of working with one Taylor Hebert.


	2. Chapter 2

Subduction 1.2  
  
Hebert woke up tucked into a bed. The room was small and plain, without windows or decoration. Walls and ceiling white. The only furniture was the bed and a chair. Faultline was sitting in the chair reading a paperback. She wasn't wearing her goggles and didn't seem to notice that Hebert had woken. Hebert glared at her. Looked at the door and back at Faultline before deciding she wouldn't be fast enough. “You drugged me.”  
  
“Yes.” She put a bookmark between the pages and then looked up.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Newter's drugs have a side effect of loosening the tongue. If we're going to accept you we need to make sure that you don't have any hidden motivations. Secrets, backstabbing, intrigue, we don't do that shit here.”  
  
“I just need to pay my dad's medical bills,” Hebert murmured.  
  
“I know that _now_. Do you need to call anyone?”  
  
“No,” she shook her head, “Dad's still in the hospital.”  
  
“Good. We still need to talk more. Hi, my name is Daria.” She stuck out her hand.  
  
Hebert took it. “Um, Taylor.”  
  
“You now work for me. I expect loyalty and cooperation from you. You can expect protection and compensation from me. For right now if I or any of my crew give you an order I expect you to jump to it. They know what they're doing and they will keep you alive. Understand?” Taylor nodded. “Right now I need to know everything about this Ward and Armsmaster.”  
  
Hebert's hand clenched and unclenched the sheet. She paused slightly too long, obviously deciding what to tell and what to hold back. “She's a bully at my school. She's the reason I was in the hospital when the Merchants attacked. When I got back from the hospital I saw that she had a spirit attached to her. That's what powers look like to me, spirits or ghosts, fantastical creatures. I'm not crazy or going to be the next Fairy Queen it's just,” Hebert screwed her eyes shut, “'a metaphorical representation of a complex equation placed into a mental framework designed to understand an ancient environment and not advanced mathematics.' I'm not crazy, honest.”  
  
“I don't believe you are. But the story?”  
  
“Right. Anyway, it was whispering in her ear, making her mean. I made it stop. The next day she runs up to me crying, hugs me and wouldn't stop apologizing. Later I was called into the principal's office and Armsmaster was there. He talked about how a Ward was attacked and asked if I assaulted anyone. I said no and he said that I was telling the truth.”  
  
"Always ask for a lawyer you damn..." she pinched her brow, "ask for a lawyer next time. And your guardian. Armsmaster should never have been able to question you. You lucked out. And Shadow Stalker?"  
  
“How did you know that it was Shadow-”  
  
“Two female Wards. Only one old enough to go to school with you.”  
  
“Oh, duh. Wait, oh God, last night, I told you her name, oh God, that's-”  
  
“Not important. I have no use for the identity of a Ward with an average power set. The PRT doesn't suspect you now and it's going to stay that way. For now I want you to minimize all contact with Shadow Stalker and her friends."  
  
"I haven't seen Soph- Shadow Stalker since she hugged me. But her friends, I can't. I mean, I want to, but they've never left me alone before. I can't switch schools or anything either. Arcadia is full and Immaculata costs more money than we can afford."  
  
"Fortunately for you a concerned citizen read about your stay in the locker," Hebert flinched, "yes, I read about it while you were asleep. I assume that was Shadow Stalker. I'll pay the medical bills and tuition now as a loan. The money will come out of your future pay.”  
  
“I- My dad, he can't know where the money-”  
  
Daria waved her objections away. “Money laundering is a future lesson. For now I'll take care of it. More importantly, when you changed her power it caused her personality to change?”  
  
“What? Oh no, no I didn't do anything like that to you. I promise-”  
  
“But you could have?”  
  
“Not really. I'd have to explain to your spirit what I want it to do and then properly, erm, motivate it. And then I don't know if it would keep on doing it if it didn't agree.”  
  
“But if it did agree?”  
  
“I'd never do that,” she curled up, hugging her knees, “That would be bad. Birdcage bad.”  
  
“So Shadow Stalker could return to normal? Or clients powers could revert?”  
  
Hebert's lips quirked up in a creepy grin. “Shadow Stalker's spirit isn't going to be whispering in her ear for a long, long time. As for clients... the spirits won't break their word once given. They just won't. Can't. If the spirit agrees then the powers won't revert.”  
  
Daria sat back reviewing the conversation, “'Whispering in her ear.' You said that Shadow Stalker's spirit was 'whispering in her ear.' Is my spirit doing the same?”  
  
“Yes.” Hebert looked away from Daria, towards the door.  
  
“What's it saying?”  
  
“It's not so much words but it's like 'Trust your instincts. You can handle anything. Cut that thing, no, that one over there.' It's not as loud as Shadow Stalker's though.”  
  
 _Making me overconfident? More likely to use power? I'll have to find a way to compensate._ “I have two of your coworkers here that I would like you to take a look at now,” she continued. “Newter and Gregor. Spitfire and Labyrinth will be back in the morning and you can meet them then. Before you meet Newter and Gregor, have you ever heard the term Case 53 or Monster Cape?”  
  
“I don't know what a Case 53 is, but Monster Capes are the ones who don't look human. Like Weld.”  
  
“Of _course_ you'd remember him, damn hormonal teenagers. Yes, well, it used to be that all Monster Capes were Case 53s. That changed around two years ago. New triggers sometimes went out of control. Massive physiological changes, psychotic behavior, there are a lot more Monster Capes now, but fewer Case 53s. It's paradoxical. Case 53s are Monster Capes that someone took, branded, erased their memories, and dumped them naked somewhere. No Case 53 has ever recovered their memories or been connected to a missing person case.”  
  
“So Newter and Gregor are Case 53s?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And you want to know if I can make them human again?”  
  
Faultline silently sat, looking at her until Hebert began fidgeting, “They are human. Never say otherwise.”  
  
“Sorry,” Hebert muttered, “I meant make them look human again.”  
  
“Right. Come along.” Faultline stood up and opened the door. A loud concussive thud entered the room. Seeing her hesitance Faultline gestured for her to follow, “don't worry. The top floors are closed to the public. No one will see you.”  
  
They made their way to the common quarters. Behind another soundproofed door was the kitchen and living room. A large screen TV played the news. The fallout from the Behemoth attack on Salvador was still being tallied. Since Scion had disappeared two years ago Endbringer battles had caused increasingly higher casualties, Behemoth the Herokiller averaging eighty percent in his last two appearances. _Money's only good when there's still something to spend it on._  
  
Newter was lounging in his chair, tail scratching his ear. The neon orange skin and cobalt blue hair drew the eye to him no matter who else was in the room. He had his shirt off and started subtly flexing when they walked in. Daria stifled a snort at his attempt to impress the new girl. A glance at Hebert showed that she was at least appreciative. _Or is she looking at his brand?_  
  
“Newter, Taylor. Taylor, Newter. I'll heat up dinner while you get started.”  
  
Hebert held out a hand only for Newter to smile. “I wouldn't do that if I were you. Not unless you want another trip to purple unicorn land.”  
  
She yanked her hand back. “Right, that was you. Um, do you want to get started?”  
  
“Make yourself comfortable. Sit anywhere except here,” he banged on his armrest,. “and you'll be fine.”  
  
“So how do you-”  
  
“My sweat is a hallucinogen and sedative, ingested or on contact.”  
  
“So I drank... ew.”  
  
“Hey, I charge through the nose for that. No hangover, no side effects, it’s not addictive, and you can’t overdose on it.”  
  
“Just don't do it again, alright?”  
  
“Your wish is my convenience.”  
  
“Right. This might take a while.” Hebert made herself comfortable, adjusting pillows on the couch before she leaned back, closing her eyes. Her breath evened out, eyes flickering back and forth underneath her eyelids. Newter shrugged and turned back to the news.  
  
Faultline came back in with reheated Chinese takeout. Setting down one container in front of Hebert she sat down watching Newter watch the news. The serious portion of the news over the anchor switched over to a video of a box of kittens and then cut to commercial break. “She done anything yet?”  
  
“Give her time, Newter.”  
  
“I am, I'm-”  
  
Hebert's leg kicked out knocking away her takeout, back arched, head jerking side to side, legs and arms swinging akimbo, screeching “a thousand voices, home lost, too many, too many, concordance, nails in my ears, nails-”  
  
Newter leaped from his chair propelled by his tail. He grabbed her neck with his bare hands careful to stay away from her larynx. Eyes fluttering her cries turned into whimpers. She went limp and Newter lowered her gently backwards. He looked over at Faultline.  
  
“We'll ask her in the morning,” she shrugged, scooping the fried rice back into its container.


	3. Chapter 3

Subduction 1.3  
  
Daria was finishing her bacon and eggs when Hebert stumbled into the kitchen. “You drugged me. Again.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
She sat down at the table. “Thank you.”  
  
“No problem.” She pointed at the kitchen, “help yourself.”  
  
Hebert poked around the cupboards settling on a sugary cereal and placed a kettle on the stove. She found Emily's tea bags and Daria made a note to buy more. Emily got tetchy if anyone messed with her belongings.  
  
Hebert seated herself prompting Daria to ask, “What happened?”  
  
“His spirit... at first I thought it was like a chimera.” Hebert grimaced and put her spoon down, “It had pieces that didn't fit together right. But I looked closer and... skin made of flayed flesh, fur matted in filth, maggots crawling under the skin, all stitched together like Frankenstein. Then it spoke and I don't remember what happened next.”  
  
“You started screaming. Knocked over your dinner.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“Don't worry about it. So you can't fix Newter?”  
  
“I... um... think I can. But I have to fix the spirit first. I'm not sure how I can fix it... but I think I can. Maybe.”  
  
“We'll put that in the long term category then. Labyrinth is going to be back at noon. I want you to take a look at her. Her power, it causes certain issues. It pulls her into her own little world mentally and then she pushes that world physically out into ours.  
  
“The longer she is in an area the further her range increases and the more familiar she is with the area the faster her range increases. The best we can do is to move her to a hotel every week and rearrange her room while she's out. It works passably well, but if you can help her it will be a big relief.”  
  
“She isn't like Newter, a Case 53?” Faultline shook her head. “I should be fine. Visiting hours start at nine, so if I could come back at noon?”  
  
“That works,” she slid a phone and key across the table, “Here, key to the employee entrance. It's best that you don't come through the front again. The phone is paid up to the end of next month, call the first number if, for whatever reason, you're questioned by a cop or hero.”  
  
“Johnson, Johnson, and Johnson?” Hebert asked.  
  
“Lawyer. Quite good. Had clones of himself flash grown in the nineties before it was made illegal. You now have them on retainer.”  
  
“Won't they know I'm a villain if I can afford to keep a lawyer on retainer?”  
  
“They'll just think you're with the E88. Since the only cape they have around your age is Rune, and she's blonde and half a foot shorter, they'll just think you're a courier or something. The Johnsons do a lot of work for them.”  
  
“I don't want anyone to think I'm a Nazi!”  
  
“It doesn't matter what they think. It only matters what they can act on. They can't do anything to you for having the same lawyer as Kaiser, but if you talk to them—like you talked to Armsmaster—they can throw the book at you. If anything happens say you want your lawyer and shut up. Just sit there twiddling your thumbs until a Johnson gets there. Do you understand?”  
  
“Don't talk to the cops. Ask for Nazi lawyer. Got it.”  
  
“The Johnsons aren't Nazis. They just take their money. I'd suggest you get used to it.”  
  
Hebert looked sullenly at her Cheerios. She'd get over it, eventually. Or perhaps she wouldn't have to. Faultline poured herself a second cup of coffee. She considered the possibilities the newbie presented. Perhaps the merry band had just moved out of the mercenary business.  
  
“What can your power do to Tinkers?” Faultline asked.  
  
“Don't know. Haven't met one.”  
  
“What about Armsmaster?”  
  
“Oh, right. Didn't get to talk to his spirit. Or even get a good look at it.”  
  
Faultline paused a moment to think, “Don't come in at noon. Take the rest of the day off and be back here at six.”  
  
“Tomorrow morning or-”  
  
“Tonight. No one should be up at six in the morning. Yes, I know, you still have to be up for school then. Sucks to be you.” She smirked around her mug.  
  
Hebert crunched her cereal loudly in response, abruptly stopping when Gregor entered.  
  
Newter was exotic. Wild coloration, cut muscles, and a carefree attitude, if he could touch people he would have many paramours, tail or no. And he knew it. Gregor however was hairless, skin partly translucent, coral growths sprouting from his skin, his fat didn't make him look chubby so much as it made him appear bloated. The overall appearance was of a decomposing corpse washed in with the tide. He offered Hebert his hand. “This the new girl? Hello, my name is Gregor.”  
  
To her credit she took it without any signs of hesitation. “Taylor.”  
  
“Faultline said you could help me and Newter?”  
  
“Maybe. I think so.”  
  
“That would be nice.” Gregor puttered around the kitchen preparing his breakfast. Some sort of hippie rabbit food that Daria didn't even try to understand. “You can see powers?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“What does Daria's look like?”  
  
“British schoolmarm with a butcher knife.”  
  
“Heh. And mine?”  
  
Her nose wrinkled, “You don't want to know.”  
  
“Perhaps, then, it is best that I do not.”  
  
“I really have to get going.”  
  
“Hold on. I'll drive you. No buts, you said that visiting hours start at nine, it would take you more than an hour by bus and I assume that you'll want to shower and change clothes too. Just give me a minute here and then we'll go.”  
  
Gregor watched her exit, “I like her.”  
  
Faultline smiled, “She seems like a good kid. Too naive and trusting. I need a pretext for meeting with Über and Leet, Gregor. What toys do they have that would be worth purchasing?”  
  
“I do not know. It would be better to ask Spitfire, she watches their show.”  
  
“Ask her. Brainstorm and get me a list in, say, two hours.” Faultline placed her mug in the sink and followed after Hebert.  
  
Hebert lived in a neighborhood that could be best described as aspiring to middle class. The houses were small and any visible cars were old. But the yards were maintained, there was no visible graffiti, and while the cars were old they were also still in one piece. Taylor ran into her house and Faultline followed. Faultline poked around as Hebert quickly showered and dressed. The house was obviously beginning to fall apart at the seams. Mail had been piled up in a corner, the sink was full of dirty dishes, a thin layer of dust along the shelving, and a faint scent of mildew in the air.  
  
The drive to the hospital went through both ABB and Empire territory. Despite the ongoing gang war the street were clear. It was made apparent why as Armsmaster and Velocity passed their car twice. The Protectorate were patrolling in force, trying to quell the violence.  
  
“So, um, why only the goggles?”  
  
“Hm?” Hebert had made a few attempts at small talk on the drive, but they hadn't risen beyond the conversational level of weather and local sport's team.  
  
“The goggles. I mean, I could tell that you're somewhere around five foot six, white, black hair, might even be able to pick you out of a line up.”  
  
 _Right, ignorant newbie._ “There are some people who say the PRT has a file where every cape's civilian identity is stored. I find that doubtful. Too high of a security risk and if they really need to know they have enough Thinkers on payroll to find out anyone's ID in less than an hour. The costume is just there to give them plausible deniability.”  
  
“But if they know who you are-”  
  
“They don't come after us in our civvies for a number of reasons. Escalation of cape fights. Endbringers. Politics. Some people say they go too far, that they give men like Heartbreaker carte blanche. Either way it works out well for me.”  
  
“So I don't have to worry about the PRT?”  
  
Daria nodded, “As long as you maintain a weak pretense of keeping your identity secret. The IRS, now that's a different story. They don't have any idea of who's a cape and who's not. More capes are unmasked and subsequently arrested because of the IRS than any other organization.”  
  
“Oh. Wait, if you knew that I wasn't a mole than why did you drug me?”  
  
Daria looked over at Hebert. _Did she really think, honestly think_ \- She guffawed. “Mole? Some hero in a villain group acting as a mole? That... that would have to be the dumbest thing anyone ever could... mole. That's funny. No. There's a bunch of reasons we drugged you. You might have been there to try and take us over or to steal or any number of numbskull things. Besides new triggers are always a little cuckoo.”  
  
“I feel like I should take offense at that.”  
  
Daria shrugged, “People trigger at a low point in their life. The sort of point where you wonder if it's better just to end it all. And then you get super powers. Everyone is a little messed up at that point. You triggered a little over a month ago, you seem to be doing fine. Considering that your first instinct wasn't to dress in spandex and fight—I'm going to guess— _against_ tyranny and villainy, it seems that you're a bastion of sanity.”  
  
Daria left Hebert to work through the new information for the rest of the drive.  
  
She pulled over a block away from the Anders Memorial Hospital. “A few things: Ask your dad if you can get a job. Tell him it's as a dishwasher at the Palanquin. He'll ask if you're worried about paying for the medical bills. Tell him no, but you need some spending money and you need to start saving.  
  
“When you come back tonight bring a few changes of clothes and toiletries.  
  
“And don't talk about switching schools. At all. A wealthy philanthropist will contact your father in a few days, you know nothing about that and it'll be a pleasant surprise. See you at six.”  
  
With Hebert dropped off Daria headed back to the Palanquin. She put together her notes, research, and thoughts together with the recordings of her interviews with Hebert. A quick bout of shopping at army surplus stores and she arrived at _Riviera's_ at noon.  
  
“Emily, how was it?”  
  
“Decent. Still going to want me to stay away?”  
  
“For the next week or so. Business after lunch.”  
  
“Of course.” One did not go to _Riviera's_ and spoil the food with tawdry affairs. Emily had her usual steak and lobster, Daria electing for a tuna and ordering the same for Elle. There were reasons to stay in Brockton Bay and _Riviera's_ always showed up on that list.  
  
Finished and waiting on dessert they moved on to the meeting. “I'll be taking Elle back with me; there's a good chance I've found a cure.”  
  
“The new girl?”  
  
“Yes. Here's what I've got so far,” Daria pushed her purse under the table with her foot.  
  
“Is it actually going to be worthwhile? I mean, people like that are usually bad news.”  
  
“Read what I've got on her. It looks like a small, controllable side effect. One she doesn't even want to use. Besides, if I'm reading her right, she can't control the boys.”  
  
“Then why am I stuck in a motel if you have them?”  
  
“Independent verification. Trust me, this has the potential to set us up for life.”  
  
“One week.”  
  
“One week. Come on, Elle, let's get you home.”


	4. Chapter 4

Subduction 1.4  
  
5:58. Daria was certain that Hebert would have been here early. By at least half an hour. Had she misread Hebert? That could have long reaching ramifications.  
  
Would she arrive promptly at six? An interesting compulsion. Or would she be late? Would she call or force Daria to call her. Important questions that needed to be answered. Just what kind of subordinate would Hebert be?  
  
 _'_ _This is my stop, Got to get-_ _'_ She grabbed her phone, “Daria here.”  
  
“Ma'am, there's a girl in the back alley staring at the building.”  
  
“Staring?”  
  
“She's just standing there. Staring up at the second story. Been there at least ten minutes.”  
  
“I'll be right down.” _Chance that it's_ _not_ _Hebert? No bet. I'd say the girl is more trouble than she's worth, but she's worth quite a lot._  
  
“Hey, you there?” Daria snapped her fingers under Hebert's nose. “Taylor?”  
  
She didn't look away from the Palanquin, or even blink. “Shiny. It's so pretty.”  
  
Daria followed Hebert's gaze up to the second floor. Yes, that was about where Elle's room was. _So now_ _I have_ _two near comatose capes to take care of._ “Come along.” Daria took her by the elbow and walked her into the Palanquin. She passively complied, her head rotating keeping a constant focus on Elle's room.  
  
Taking her to Elle's room she set her down in the comfy chair. Elle stood against the wall staring into nothing. Hebert stared at Elle. Daria waited. Elle turned and stared at Hebert. Hebert stared at Elle. Daria waited. None of them moved. _That's enough._ Daria grabbed Hebert and led her back out of Elle's room. She limply struggled, “No, shiny. Don't wanna go. Take me back to shiny.”  
  
Daria frogmarched Hebert back out of the Palanquin and to the end of the alley. Hebert slowly regaining her coordination and by the time they were on the street she could walk by herself. “Feeling better?”  
  
“Yeah, wow, that was intense,” she leaned forward, hands on her knees, taking deep breaths, “It's, wow, potential made manifest and brought forth. Beautiful.”  
  
“Can you fix her?”  
  
“Fix? There's nothing to fix. She's perfect.”  
  
Daria yanked her up, pinning her against the brick wall. Forearm on her throat other hand point back to the Palanquin. “She can't look after herself. She won't eat unless food is put in front of her. She won't bathe unless she's placed in the shower. She is trapped in her own mind. She is _not_ perfect.”  
  
“I can't, _won't_ , change her power,”   
  
Daria tightened her hold, “Just make it so her spirit isn't whispering in her ear or whatever crap you need to do.”  
  
“It's not whispering to her. It's the ability, there's just so many possibilities... so much information that she can't handle it all. It's amazing. I won't change her power. But wait, _wait_ ,” Hebert croaked out, waving her hands in front of her, “I can maybe give her a, a, call it an off switch. Would that work?”  
  
Daria lifted the pressure. _Overdoing it. Calm down._ “That might be acceptable. Could you be around her if she had her powers off?”  
  
“If she had her powers off _and_ was in a different room I don't _think_ I'd turn into a drooling idiot.”  
  
“Do that then. We need to hurry up. There's a meeting at eight and we need to get you costumed.  
  
“Just give me a moment. I need to brace myself. Focus.” She rolled up her sleeve and pinched herself starting a mantra of “focus, focus, focus on the off switch.” As they walked back the light pinch became harder, a drop of blood dripped out. But she still walked up to the room unaided.  
  
Elle stared at Hebert. Hebert stared at Elle, blood slowly making its way down her arm as she chanted, “focus, focus, focus.” Daria took a seat, glancing at one and then the other. A small eternity passed with nothing for her to do but wait. Elle gave a start. She looked around the room. She looked _at_ the room, something she rarely did on her best days. Crying she ran forward and hugged Taylor. This proved too much for Taylor and she reverted. “Shiny...” she crooned stroking Labyrinth's hair.  
  
Daria gave them their moment before once more taking Hebert by the elbow and dragging her out of the room. “Show me the arm.”  
  
“Hm, what, my arm? Why would that matter? Just take me back to-”  
  
Daria forced up the sleeve of her hoodie. It barely broke the skin but was bruising heavily. “Not too bad, but it's going to look quite bad. Let's get that bandaged.” She turned to see Labyrinth following them, “No, Elle, stay in your room for right now. I need Taylor to be able to think.” She grabbed a First Aid kit and led Taylor over to the couch and took care of the wound. Giving Taylor time to gather her wits.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“No, thank you. She can just turn her power off whenever she feels like it now?”  
  
“Yes. She should still use it a couple of hours every day at the minimum, but she can just turn it off now.”  
  
“We need to get you dressed up. I'm thinking Tinker. That's not going to scare anybody like Stranger, Master, or Thinker and they won't go full out against you like if I said you were a Brute.”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“Broad classifications popularized by the PRT. Brute's are bricks. Tough and hit hard. Tinkers are the inventors. Changers are shapeshifters. Striker, breaker, and shaker are really the same thing but Striker target things they touch, Breaker target themselves, and Shakers target things around them. Masters control things, people, furniture, bugs. Strangers are hard to find or think about. Trumps deals with powers. Thinkers are a grab bag, everything from enhanced senses to skills to precognition to super intelligence.”  
  
Taylor silently mouthed the classifications to herself. “That doesn't make sense?”  
  
“It's actually a very simple classification system-”  
  
“No, not the system. The names. You have Tinker and Thinker, Shaker and Breaker, Stranger and Changer, they sound too much alike. Too much room for confusion.”  
  
“They are what they are,” she shrugged. “Anyway you're some sort of Trump but it's best that people don't know that. A new Tinker, just starting out, is a low threat and nobody will expect too much from you.”  
  
“Why can't we just tell them I'm a Trump?”  
  
“You're valuable.” Faultline stated, “Until we know just how we're going to market you, nobody is going to know what your power is. Now I have a vest in your size and a spare mask, but we don't want you to look too much like me...”  
  
The costume was just a full welding mask, camo pants, boots, long sleeved black t-shirt, and a Kevlar vest. According to Faultline it combined the right elements of military and engineer to suggest Tinker even without any tinker tech. Taylor was jealous of Faultline's costume which started with a dark green martial arts ensemble with something resembling a parted skirt Faultline insisted was called a _hakama._ The addition of armor and welding goggles made her look like a modern knight. Deadly, practical elegance.  
  
“Now this meeting is with Über and Leet,” she ignored the face Taylor made at that revelation, “the official reason for the meeting is my purchasing some of Leet's tech. You are going to sit in the corner and pay attention to Leet. I don't really care about Über, we just need to know what you can do for a Tinker. Say nothing beyond pleasantries, do nothing. If you start to have problems, knock on the table twice and walk out of the room.”  
  
“Say nothing. Look at Leet. Knock twice and leave if power goes wonky. Got it.”  
  
“Good. Come along, Gizmo.”  
  
“Gizmo? Seriously?”  
  
“Yes, seriously.”  
  
They traveled outside of town, Faultline quizzing Taylor on what streets belonged to what gangs as they drove. Arriving at a park they had to wait for a few minutes before Über and Leet arrived.  
  
The duo were dressed in black trench coats and sunglasses, holsters with a ridiculous number of guns peeked out from the coats. A little closer look showed the skin around their face was peeling, most likely a some sort of latex mask. For them this was as low key as possible. Faultline appreciated the effort.  
  
“Über. Leet. Thank you for meeting with me.”  
  
“Not a problem, Faultline. Now who's this?”  
  
“Meet Gizmo. She just triggered and I'm showing her the ropes.”  
  
“Hi,” she waved a hand.  
  
“Tinker, eh? Come on by sometime and we can talk shop.” Leet eyed her up and down making Taylor feel dirty. Maybe the next costume could cover even more skin? Gloves?  
  
Faultline placed a six pack on the table. Über picked one out and handed it to her before grabbing two for him and Leet. He glanced over at Gizmo.   
  
Faultline opened hers and took a drink. “She's underage.”   
  
Über shrugged and popped the cap off his. “What exactly are you interested in?” he asked.  
  
Seating themselves Faultline pulled out a notebook. “I have a short list here. Firstly holomasks.”  
  
“I guess your crew would want something like that. The power supply is only good for thirty minutes at a time and they break. A lot. Unless, of course, your Tinker?” Über nodded at Taylor.  
  
“We're still trying to pin down what her specialty is. Part of why we're interested in various tinker tech right now. Newter was asking about that lightsaber you used?”  
  
“Uh-uh. Not for sale.” Leet spoke up.  
  
“I thought it was more of a toy.” Faultline glanced at Über.  
  
“It is,” Über acknowledged, “but it's a really _awesome_ toy.”  
  
“Fair enough. Spitfire is interested in those fire suppression capsules.”  
  
The meetup continued. Most of the tech mentioned was already broken or not for sale. Faultline wasn't confident in the goods she had agreed to purchase. A few holomasks, a couple ray guns, and the remainder of the fire suppression capsules. Spitfire would at least be happy about those.  
  
Taylor sat ramrod straight through the half hour of dealing, both hands together resting on the table, looking straight ahead. Finally Faultline said, “Gentleman, it's been a pleasure doing business with you.”  
  
“Likewise, always nice to talk with a true professional,” Über said.  
  
“We'll have the stuff ready for you in two days,” Leet said.  
  
“Thanks. Have you heard anything about the Merchants or Bad Boys?”  
  
“No.” Über said, “Far as I know they're still not willing to meet.”  
  
“Damn. It can't continue much longer. Not without the Protectorate calling in reinforcements.”  
  
“Yeah,” Leet nodded, “we've been thinking of taking a little vacation.”  
  
“That may be a good idea. See you in two days.” She waited until they had driven away before turning to Taylor. “Well, what did you find out?”  
  
“Tinkers are so awesome.” She bounced up and down, her voice bubbly, “They have this, like, huge library that they can access and then they can build. Oh man, there's so much there, they get improved fine dexterity and then this one thing where matter moves together just right and this other thing that causes-”  
  
“If you wanted to improve Leet's power what could you do?” Faultline interrupted.  
  
“Leet. His spirit is a little crazy. Thinks of himself as an artist. Refuses to look in the library more than once or give much help when building duplicates. He was cagy but I think he might sabotage some of Leet's inventions. Hates Leet. A lot. I think I could talk him into maybe something new, like, I don't know, a series. Where each piece in the series is slightly different preserving the uniqueness as a whole. Yeah, I could totally do that.”  
  
“You could fix Leet's ability. Make it so he could build duplicates.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I think that I know just how we're going to make money.” She smiled, “At least you didn't zone out or have a seizure or radically alter his personality this time.”  
  
“... About that.”  
  
“Oh God, what now?”  
  
“Leet's spirit was talking about how much he hates Leet. 'Coward, never takes chances, boring.' So I mentioned a game I heard about at school. There's this one kid who won't shut up about computer games and he was talking about this one game for a week. Um, so when you died it didn't go to a game over screen or anything like that that would 'break immersion' instead the player's transported to a nearby tube, like in the Empire Strikes Back, and revived. And I might have told him that maybe Leet would take more chances if he had one of those tubes?”  
  
“You're saying that in thirty minutes you might have made Leet, motherfucking _Leet_ , immortal. Accidentally.” Taylor weakly nodded. Fautline reached around her shoulders and gave her a hug. “We are going to make so much money.”


	5. Chapter 5

Subduction 1.5-Yamada  
  
Shadow Stalker. Probationary Ward for six months as part of a court case settlement. Manslaughter. Vigilante for almost two years prior. Sophomore at Winslow High School. On January 28, 2011 the PRT received word from Winslow that Shadow Stalker had a nervous breakdown.  
  
Shadow Stalker had grabbed and hugged another student, Taylor Hebert, while crying and apologizing. Staff had to physically separate them. Beyond the initial emotional outburst Shadow Stalker was content to wait until she was picked up by a PRT van.  
  
Shadow Stalker's behavior differed far enough from expectations that she was brought back to PRT HQ and placed in Master/Stranger protocols. She alternated her time between watching TV, sleeping, and crying.  
  
When questioned she was fully cooperative—in fact volunteering details and evidence of previous wrongdoing without prompting. Most serious were three unsolved homicides. Implanted memories were ruled out with the accompanying forensic evidence.  
  
Most likely suspect was Taylor Hebert. Shadow Stalker confessed to a protracted bullying campaign culminating in an attack that sent Ms. Hebert to the hospital. The day after Ms. Hebert returned to Winslow Shadow Stalker suffered her break down. Ms. Hebert was removed from the suspect list after being questioned by Armsmaster.  
  
Masters capable of altering human emotion were rare. Few parahumans triggered with powers capable of altering the human mind and those that did typically had short careers, either killed by other villains or sent to the Birdcage on the flimsiest of pretexts. The exceptions were mostly accounted for or their powers didn't match this case.  
  
The two most likely Masters were the missing Heartbreaker children, Jean-paul and Cherie. Yet they had no known motivation.  
  
It could be a newly triggered parahuman but the only known candidate was Taylor Hebert. She had a recent traumatic event, the motive, and the timing of the attack matched her return from the hospital. Yamada made a note to get the interview transcript.  
  
The PRT had tasked Yamada with determining the likelihood of Shadow Stalker suffering a guilt induced break down. Unfortunately the only psych reports were from her trial. Reports six months old and obviously biased.  
  
Yamada had been less than thrilled when she had heard that.  
  
“Are you telling me that you had a teenager convicted of manslaughter, a teenager who thought it was a good idea to dress up and shoot arrows at drug dealers, a teenager that every person I've talked to so far has described as 'aggressive and maybe _just a little crazy_ ', you've had her in the Wards and you did _not_ assign her to therapy?”  
  
“The well being of the Wards is Armsmaster's responsibility, Ms. Yamada,” Director Piggot said.  
  
Yamada turned towards Armsmaster, “Anything to say to that?”  
  
“Director Piggot volunteered to run the Wards when she moved them to the PRT building.”  
  
“So it's both of your goddamned fault. Now I have to reference six month old trial transcripts instead of a report. Tell me, what about the other Wards? Do any of them receive counseling?”  
  
“None of them require counseling, Mrs. Yamada.”  
  
“None of them need counseling? How do you determine that? They're doing fine, just like Shadow Stalker? How old is Vista? Twelve? How many life and death fights has she been in? No, I'm not doing this. I'm calling Youth Guard. You aren't fit to run the Wards, either of you.”  
  
“Mrs. Yamada,” Director Piggot raised her voice, “if we could roundtable this with Director Costa-Brown before you did anything _rash_.” Left unsaid was that legal protections or no, whistle blowers had a difficult time finding employment.  
  
Promises were made. Yamada was sure that they were empty, but the larger concessions would be kept. East North East Wards and Protectorate would receive psychological screening and regular therapy.  
  
Now Yamada had to reconstruct Shadow Stalker's previous personality before comparing it with her current personality. What could have been a day's work including travel was taking more than a week. Which led to her hunting down and interviewing the Wards.  
  
Clockblocker was the easiest to schedule a meeting with. Mainly because he didn't schedule with her. Aegis just told him the time and place to show up.  
  
“She was kind of a bitch. Didn't talk during the patrols just took to the roofs and occasionally provided backup.”  
  
“What about the week before her incident?”  
  
“She was normal all that week. The day before... she looked really tired. Said she was fine. Aegis told her to go home and sleep. He does that sometimes. Team leader and all. I think that's the first time Shadow Stalker was sent home early though.”  
  
“What was she like that day? No detail is too small.”  
  
“Details? Well, she didn't insult anyone and she wasn't caressing her crossbow. Oh yeah, she has this thing where she would stroke it, occasionally cock it, and then release the tension. Kind of like pencil twirling or fidgeting. Nervous energy. She didn't even have her bow with her. Left it in her locker. And when Aegis told her to go home she didn't argue.”  
  
“Wouldn't she want to get out of patrol?”  
  
“No, she liked patrolling. And she argued over everything. We wanted Pizza? She was only in the mood for Chinese. Chinese? She demanded subs. Everything was a fight with her.”  
  
 _'Clockblocker, trouble with authority. SS argumentative. Fixated on weapon.'_  
  
It was easier to go to Kid Win in his workshop than schedule an appointment. He didn't even look at her the entire interview. Too busy putting together a modification to his hover board.  
  
“She didn't talk much on patrols. Saved my ass a few times though. I didn't really see her at base. I spend most of my time in the workshop.”  
  
“She never went to your workshop?”  
  
“Nah. Said there wasn't anything she could use there. Her powers don't really mix with electricity.”  
  
“Were you there on the twenty-seventh when Aegis sent her home?”  
  
“I was manning the console that night. She was quiet. Not sullen quiet, but tired quiet.”  
  
“And her crossbow?”  
  
“She, yeah, she didn't have it with her. Odd.”  
  
“She liked her crossbow?”  
  
“I'm not sure if 'like' is the right word. She was always complaining about it. Well, more about the ammo. But she always had it with her.”  
  
“What about the ammo?”  
  
“Tranquilizer rounds. She said they threw her aim off.”  
  
 _'Kid Win, isolating self. SS socializes for reasons. Prefers lethal ammo.'_  
  
Yamada was only able to meet with Vista after one of her shifts ended. When offered refreshment Vista only asked for coffee. Yamada made a note of it. _'Sleep deprived? Imitating adults?'_  
  
“She was really mean. After the first month she was here Aegis said that I didn't have to patrol with her anymore but the Pig... got, Director Piggot, said that would hurt unit cohesion and everyone had to patrol with everyone. Patrolling with her really wasn't that bad though. She never talked much during patrol.”  
  
“So you never really conversed with her?”  
  
“No, she talked a lot back at base. Complaining about everything,” Vista voice became nasal, “The Wards only patrol the safe areas of town. We're predators, we should be out doing something. Look at my crossbow, I have penis envy.” Her ears went scarlet and she looked at the tape recorder, “Oops, sorry. Can you delete that?”  
  
“Don't worry. It's just for my personal notes. No one else is going to hear it. How did she treat you personally?”  
  
“She always called me a kid or baby. I've been a Ward for four years. Four! I have more experience than most of the Protectorate. I'm not a kid.”  
  
 _'Vista, high expectations. Trying to act too mature. Friends her own age? SS summary agrees CB and KW.'_  
  
Gallant was easy to find. His armor required maintenance so he was restricted to base. He had taken to manning the console to free up the other members of his team.  
  
“I didn't talk with her. At all. You know that I can sense emotion right? All I ever got from her was anger. Sometimes it was low simmering, sometimes it was icy cold, and sometimes it was barely restrained. But it was always anger. It's a very unpleasant sensation to talk with an angry person.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“It's like having someone in your face yelling and cursing you out. Even when the conversation is perfectly civil.”  
  
 _'SS angry. Gallant useful. Meet with SS.'_  
  
Aegis had to make room around a busy schedule. As Ward team leader he had all of their paperwork, on top of standard mission reports, AP classes, and picking up the slack on patrols now that the Ward was temporarily down two team members, Shadow Stalker and Gallant.  
  
“She was good in a fight. Instinctive understanding of her surroundings. Crack shot and no that wasn't her power. She was down in the firing range practicing every chance she got. She didn't really mesh with the team though.” He sat straight and spoke in a formal tone. Expecting to be graded or judged.  
  
“The recorder is for my own use, no one else will hear this conversation. Right now I just need you to talk to me. Don't worry about propriety.  
  
“Well, I'm trying to be polite-”  
  
“I'm not here to judge you.”  
  
“Fine. She's rude, argumentative and an outcast. If she left not one single Ward would be sad. A few would be happy.”  
  
“And now?”  
  
“We're a little scared. I mean, what if it really is a Master? Any one of us could be next.”  
  
“You sent her home because she looked tired?”  
  
“Yeah. Look, that wasn't my fault. What was I supposed to do? Throw out Master/Stranger protocols because a Ward was tired? I just thought she had finally burned out. It happens to all the Wards. The new work schedule, school, social obligations. We push and push until we collapse. That's how we find out how hard we can push.”  
  
“Did someone blame you?”  
  
“Not in so many words. But I've had to explain my actions so many times in the past week. I did what made sense at the time. I don't know what I could have done differently and it probably wouldn't have made a difference anyway.”  
  
 _'Untenable work schedules. Shifting blame. Doesn't care about SS. SS isolated. Loner.'_  
  
Shadow Stalker's mother was difficult to talk to. She insisted on a private interview which required arranging child care for her youngest.  
  
“I haven't known her since, since Steven- It was like she was a different person. Moody and temperamental. Always out with her friends. It got worse since she joined the Wards. I almost never see her anymore. I'm just a little bit grateful for that. Does that make me a bad mother?”  
  
“No, it doesn't. How did you deal with finding out she was Shadow Stalker?”  
  
“I didn't actually find out that she was Shadow Stalker until I got a call telling me that she had killed someone. Killed someone, my baby girl. The lawyer, Mr. Barnes, was very helpful. My daughter saved his life. She killed someone but she also did some good. That has to count for something, right?”  
  
“I'm sure it does. I was talking to the Wards and she saved them a time or two also.”  
  
“Right. But now she's locked up. 'Possible parahuman attack.' How do you not even know whether a parahuman attacked her or not?”  
  
“She had a sudden shift in personality, we're just trying to find out why. Do you remember the twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth?”  
  
“She just came straight home from the Wards and went to bed. I didn't see her in the morning either.”  
  
“Would it be possible for me to interview her siblings?”  
  
“No. Absolutely not. The deal I made was that they aren't to know. It does not come into my house.”  
  
“I understand. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Hess.”  
  
 _'SS isolated from family. Lacks support network?'_  
  
Winslow High School principal, Mrs. Blackwell was easy to reach and eager for a meeting. Yamada just had to meet her during school hours.  
  
“She's popular, a fine student, track star—went to State in her freshman year. All of that and not even including her extracurricular activities,”Mrs. Blackwell gushed. “She's everything that this school wants in a student”  
  
“She's popular?”  
  
“Oh, very.”  
  
“I heard she was bullying one girl, Taylor Hebert?”  
  
“Now who would say that? Taylor Hebert has been bullied, true, but it was never anything serious until the locker, and we don't know by whom. She refuses to name names and until then there's simply nothing we can do.”  
  
“So you're saying that Sophia hasn't been bullying Ms. Hebert?”  
  
“I'm sure she wouldn't.”  
  
“Has there been any disciplinary measures taken against her?”  
  
“No. We've never had a need.”  
  
 _'No trouble at school. Good at hiding activities?'_  
  
“Why is she still competing on the track team? As a parahuman shouldn't she have been banned?”  
  
“The PRT said that having her suddenly quit might give away her secret identity. Especially with how well she did her freshman year. Why?” The principal was becoming defensive. Moody. Knew that Sophia was cheating by competing. Too proud of the star athlete to make her quit. Faked injury was the most common method. Yamada had heard the story a dozen times from disgruntled Wards. It was strange that the PRT hadn't forced the issue.  
  
“Just curious. It is rather amazing that she manages to do so much.”  
  
“She is very much a go getter. Very motivated.”  
  
“Wow. Popular, athlete, honor roll, I wish my High School years were like that.”  
  
“Truthfully, so do I.”  
  
“Youth is wasted on the young. If I could talk to her friend, Emma Barnes?” Shadow Stalker had already given a statement that Ms. Barnes knew her identity; making Ms. Barnes the only one of Shadow Stalker's friends Yamada was authorized to interview.  
  
“Oh, the _model_. Her father would have to be called in. Lawyer,” she shot Yamada a conspiratorial look.  
  
“That would be fine. Ms. Barnes is not in trouble.”  
  
“If you want to wait in the teacher's lounge, I'll call you when he arrives.”  
  
 _'Not isolated at school. Friends with status symbol?'_  
  
Yamada spent an hour in the teacher's lounge. Mentions of Sophia Hess and Emma Barnes provoked praise from the teachers. Subsequent mentions of Taylor Hebert caused abrupt subject changes and more than one teacher excusing themselves to use the facilities.  
  
Called back to the office she found Principal Blackwell conversing with a fit man in a gray suit. “Mrs. Yamada, Mr. Barnes.”  
  
“Hello, you wanted to talk to my daughter.” Mr. Barnes gave her a large, endearing smile.  
  
“Yes, Mr. Barnes, it's about Sophia Hess. You represented her a while back.”  
  
“Yes... yes, I did.”  
  
“I assure you that your daughter isn't in any trouble. Ms. Hess recently had a large change of personality and we need to find out why. We are just trying to help Ms. Hess and your daughter is one of her best friends.”  
  
“So something like Heartbreaker?”  
  
“In the worst case scenario, yes, something _like_ Heartbreaker, but only in the worst case scenario. And not _actually_ Heartbreaker, he is accounted for.”  
  
“I owe her my life, anything that we can do. My daughter would be happy to help.”  
  
Yamada was given an empty office for her meeting with Emma Barnes. Mr. Barnes pacing outside like any overprotective father, Yamada smiled at Emma. “Ms. Barnes, may I call you Emma?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Emma, how did you meet Shadow Stalker?”  
  
“Shadow Stalker? I don't know Shadow Stalker.” She was a bad liar. Talking too fast. Went into denial too quickly. No alternate story or amusing anecdote about how she once met one of the Wards.  
  
“Don't worry. I'm with the PRT and we already know about your relationship with Shadow Stalker. Well, some of it. I'm hoping to fill in some of the details.”  
  
“Is she alright? I haven't seen her for weeks.”  
  
“She's fine. Have you been friends for long?”  
  
“Almost two years?”  
  
“And how did you two meet?”  
  
Emma shrunk in on herself, “She saved me.”  
  
“Saved you? As Shadow Stalker?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“But then how did you meet Sophia?”  
  
“I just said-”  
  
“How you met Shadow Stalker. But how did you meet Sophia?”  
  
“She came to my house the next day. Told me I was a survivor.”  
  
“That must have been great. To meet your hero.”  
  
“It was. She wanted to be friends. 'Cause I'm a survivor.”  
  
 _'Repeated use of the word survivor. Special meaning.'_  
  
“A survivor like Sophia?”  
  
Emma nodded. She was closing up. Thought she had said too much.  
  
“You're a model, aren't you?”  
  
“Just a few ads so far, but yeah, I do a little modeling.” It was believable. Expertly applied makeup. Complementary clothes. Curly red hair framing her face. Hourglass figure.  
  
“I never really had the body for that. When did you pick it up?”  
  
“Just after I started high school.”  
  
“So about a year and a half ago.”  
  
“Yeah. About then.”  
  
“Was Sophia proud?”  
  
“Yeah, she's the one who suggested it.”  
  
 _'_ _Sophia in charge of clique._ _Chose to_ _up Emma's social standing._ _'_  
  
“Did anything happen on the twenty-seventh?”  
  
“When?”  
  
“The day before Sophia had her incident.”  
  
“Sophia got really quiet after lunch. She left after fifth period, cutting math.”  
  
“She didn't say anything?”  
  
“No. Just left. I called her but she didn't pick up.”  
  
“What about on the twenty-eighth, do you know why Sophia was hugging Taylor Hebert?”  
  
“No. Taylor's a weakling. I have no idea why Sophia would apologize to her.”  
  
 _'Weakling said in same tone as survivor. Weaklings and survivors. Binary view.'_  
  
“I see. Thank you for your time, I just need to talk to your father for a moment. If you could send him in? Thanks.”  
  
“Mrs. Yamada, you wanted to see me?”  
  
“Mr. Barnes, I would strongly suggest you look into therapy for your daughter.”  
  
“What! Emma is-”  
  
“Felony assault,” Yamada interrupted. “As a way of coping your daughter shoved her schoolmate into a locker filled with bloody tampons and left her there for hours. I am sure that you can figure out why it is unlikely that any charges will be pressed, but she will escalate and the next time she might not be so lucky. I'd strongly advise you to seek therapy. Good day, Mr. Barnes.” Yamada left without giving the elder Barnes a chance to reply. There was little more she could do with her current authority.  
  
x x x  
  
“Hello, Shadow Stalker. My name is Mrs. Yamada. I've been assigned to interview you. This conversation is going to be recorded in compliance with Master/Stranger protocols. As such there is no doctor-client privilege. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes.” Sophia sat on the couch cross-legged in her pajamas. When no immediate threat presented itself they brought her, her clothes so she could change out of the orange jumpsuit. After the first few days she had stopped wearing jeans and had transitioned to spending all her time in fleece pajamas.  
  
“Now on the twenty-eighth you grabbed Taylor Hebert and cried until you were separated. Do you remember why?”  
  
“I was really mean to her.” She looked away from Yamada, picking at a fingernail.  
  
“Why were you mean to her?”  
  
“I don't know.”  
  
“Do you remember anything happening on the twenty-seventh?”  
  
“Taylor came back from the hospital. Nothing happened. Aegis sent me home early.”  
  
“You put Taylor into the hospital?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Do you remember why?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Do you remember how it made you feel?”  
  
“Good. Strong.” Sophia closed her eyes. Yanked at her hair.  
  
“And now?”  
  
“A little sick.”  
  
“You injured a number of people as Shadow Stalker. Do you remember them?”  
  
“Yes.” She went back to worrying at her fingernail.  
  
“Why did you injure them?”  
  
“I don't know. It felt right. They were criminals, you know.”  
  
“And the four you killed?”  
  
“Those were accidents. I didn't mean to kill them.”  
  
“But you didn't stop being Shadow Stalker.”  
  
“No. I just had to be out there. Had to hunt. I don't know why.”  
  
“If I said that you were a member of the Wards again. Right now. No strings. What would you do?”  
  
“I don't know.”  
  
“If I said that you were being sent to prison?”  
  
“I don't know. Maybe that'd be for the best? It'd only be two years, right?”  
  
“Maybe. It's getting a little late. Pizza alright with you?”  
  
“Yeah. Better than the healthy food they keep throwing at me.”  
  
“Great,” Yamada smiled at Sophia. “So you signed up for S-class threats?”  
  
“Had to. Part of my parole.”  
  
“Did you want to?”  
  
“Don't know. _Didn't_ know.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“On one hand they're out of my league. Really out of my league. But on the other hand, if I survived, I'd be tops. Queen of the world.”  
  
“I think I understand. Why are you still doing track?”  
  
“Why wouldn't I?”  
  
“You're a parahuman now. Isn't it against the rules?”  
  
“I guess. No one told me I had to stop.” Gallant brought in the pizza and they ate a few slices. Yamada getting grease on her notes.  
  
“But between school and track and the Wards... I can't imagine you have much time left over.”  
  
“What was I going to do with it? Sit around twiddling my thumbs?”  
  
“Read a book?”  
  
“Haven't been able to sit still long enough.”  
  
“You've been watching a lot of TV.”  
  
“Yeah. It's different now. More relaxing.”  
  
“What shows are you watching?”  
  
“Can't you just check the cameras?”  
  
“And spend hours just to find out what you like to watch? It's much easier just to ask.”  
  
They chatted for a while longer about trivia before Yamada excused herself.  
  
Armsmaster stood outside the room. “So she's been affected for months?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“She said that she doesn't know why she did all of that.”  
  
Yamada looked askance at Armsmaster, “You really don't remember you childhood, do you? It's a normal response.”  
  
“So there is no Master?”  
  
“I didn't say that either.” He walked out of the room. “Armsmaster,” she called out after him, “I still need that Hebert transcript. Gallant, what did you feel?”  
  
“Are we sure that's Sophia?”  
  
“I'm positive she's Sophia. A Changer or Stranger would have been caught by now. Tissue samples were sent to separate laboratories and they independently verified that she's Sophia. Biometrics match. Memories match. It's still possible, but _very_ unlikely. No known parahuman has the capability to fool us in this manner for this long. And if they did they would never be caught.”  
  
“That's good. For her, good for her. She felt, well, not normal, there's a lot of depression and guilt mixed in there, but I didn't get any anger.”  
  
“Thank you, Gallant.”  
  
x x x  
  
“This meeting on the seventh of February, 2011 at eleven o'clock is called to order,” Piggot stated formally. “Mrs. Yamada, Armsmaster, and Director Piggot are in attendance. Mrs. Yamada, if you would present your findings.”  
  
“In my professional opinion it is unlikely that Shadow Stalker's change in personality is natural. She seems to have spontaneously transitioned from a sociopath—something a therapist might have spotted in a Ward—to a normal teenage girl. This does not occur naturally.  
  
“With that said the current Shadow Stalker may become a valued member of the Wards. My recommendation is to keep her off of active duty until she can be vetted. She needs time to reorganize herself and come to terms with her past actions.  
  
“Immediate actions should include having her break off contact with all of her current friends, though it likely that she will do that independently. And move her to Arcadia immediately. Winslow is completely inadequate for hosting any Wards. The administration there either actively ignores her actions or even covers up for her.”  
  
“There are three men to still account for, Mrs. Yamada,”said Piggot.  
  
“That would be an issue for the law. My recommendation as a psychologist is that she remains a member of the Wards.”  
  
“Thank you, Doctor.”  
  
“Thank you, director. Armsmaster, I still need that transcript to finish my report.”  
  
“I'll bring it down shortly.”  
  
“Thank you.” Yamada left to finish packing. The entire ordeal had ended up putting her weeks behind her other responsibilities. According to the asylum Sveta was agitated, almost panicked, from not seeing her for so long. A knock on the door interrupted her.  
  
“Mrs. Yamada? Here's the transcript.” Armsmaster came down to personally hand it to her rather than hand it off to an underling or even e-mail it. He needed to personally talk to her about the transcript. _What's wrong with it?_  
  
Armsmaster: Ms. Hebert, you may not have heard but a Ward was recently attacked.  
  
Hebert: Is he going to be alright?  
  
A: Why do you say he?  
  
H: There are seven Wards and five of them are boys so-  
  
A: Triumph just graduated to the Protectorate. Have you assaulted anyone in the last two days?  
  
H: What? No! I'd never-  
  
A: You're telling the truth. You're free to go, Ms. Hebert.  
  
 _It's short. That's what's wrong with it._ “Two questions. You removed her from the suspect list after only two questions.”  
  
“My lie detector detected no attempt at subterfuge. She really did believe that a male Ward was attacked and she committed no assault.”  
  
“Firstly, her conflict wasn't with Shadow Stalker. It was with Sophia. The question about the Ward told you nothing except that Ms. Hebert had no idea that Sophia is a Ward. A Ward that you most likely just outed. Secondly, if a young girl is given power and she uses it to protect herself from a bully then she isn't thinking of it as assault. She'll think of it as self defense. That's her,” Yamada angrily jabbed the transcript at Armsmaster, “your new Master.”


	6. Chapter 6

Subduction 1.6

Taylor walked into the hospital room. White walls, one TV shared between three patients and only curtains for privacy.“Hey, Dad, one more day. Ready to go home?”

“I've been ready for three weeks,” Danny said.

“You've only been here three weeks.”

“My point stands.” Danny waved a hand and disguised a wince at the pain it caused. Internal bruising and broken ribs were not an easy thing to live with. “The house still standing?”

“Still where you left it. Unless your old, rusty mind forgot?”

"Careful there, baby girl, or this old man is going have to explain just how he uses his catheter."

"Ew, gross. You win. You win." Laughing Taylor passed him a stack of mail.

"Darn right, I do. Bills. Bills. Pre-approved. Bills. Robert Williams Foundation? Taylor, you should look at this."

“Tuition? Immaculata?" Daria works fast. "This is fantastic."

“This seems a little abrupt.”

“Dad, if someone wants to pay to get me out of Winslow I say that we let them.”

"It would mean leaving Emma," Danny warned.

"I'm fine with that." If he detected a certain coolness to her tone he chose not to comment.

"It's still going on?"

"Don't worry about it. I can leave... This week? How does that even work?" _Daria is_ awesome _._

"Are you sure that you want to do this?"

"Absolutely."

"Fine. About that job, I'm not comfortable with you taking it right now." He held up a hand to stall her. "Raise your grades and then we'll talk about it."

"That" _isn't according to plan_ "sounds fair."

"I'm sure they'll be up in no time."

"Don't worry, they will be."

x x x

Faultline was understanding of Taylor needing better grades before Danny would let her get a job. She just shrugged and said that Taylor would have less access to her money. She then shooed her upstairs to try to fix Newter or Gregor again. Taylor would have felt miffed but a chance to work with other's powers was hard to find. At least it was a week ago. After the incident with Sophia she had been reduced to hunting down Parian's performances to figure out how her power worked. Sitting in the front row, unmoving, staring at Parian's spirit. She just hoped that Parian didn't recognize her and think she was some sort of crazed stalker.

Newter was hot. And around her own age. Pity he had the no touchy and the drug dealing thing. Also his spirit. The thought of touching someone with a spirit like that sent waves of revulsion down her spine.

His spirit was a cat of some sort. Maybe. If an alley cat was pulled out of a shallow grave and revivified with some extra parts attached to it, it would start to approach the appearance of Newter's spirit. Taylor at least assumed it was a cat.

Gregor's was even worse. She couldn't even recognize a single base body and the attachments varied from a tentacle that just hung limply and was dragged along the floor to a bat wing that kept trying to flap weakly.

“I think I should start with Newter. His spirit looks like it's in better shape.”

After what she did to Sophia's there was no doubt that Taylor could damage spirits. She felt a tinge of happiness at the memory, that spirit wouldn't be hurting anybody else for quite some time. Healing spirits, however, would be new. But it still felt like she should be able to do it.

"Um, can we pre-drug some water? So if something happens I don't get such a large dose that I'm out all night.”

“Makes sense. We just throw it in your face?”

“Yeah, can you measure it out so I'll be out for less than an hour?”

“It's imprecise. But I'll give as small a dose as possible and if that doesn't work I will simply have to resort to force.”

“Or you could just make two glasses.”

“Or I could just make two glasses. Spoilsport.”

 _"Shh. It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. There, there,"_ Taylor comforted the spirit. Shelay unmoving on the couch as she felt along the coat, her hands— _metaphorical constructs, they're not my hands. This is_ not _real_ , she reminded herself—carefully pulling out maggots and squeezing them. They popped into little pieces of smoke. The spirit quietly whimpered at her touch but remained silent. _"There, there, it'll all be better soon. You'll see."_ Her hand bumped an open wound and the spirit opened its mouth—Taylor yanked her hands back and covered her ears, bit her lip—it screamed.

“Wait, don't throw it yet. Taylor, Taylor! Hey, can you hear me?”

“Y-yeah. I can hear you.”

“You're bleeding. Here.” Gregor handed her a towel.

Taylor dabbed away at the cut lip. “Give me a few seconds and I'll try again.”

“Take a break.” Newter stood and stretched. “It's been two hours. I'm going to take a walk.”

“Really? Wow, that's, I thought a few minutes.”

Gregor nodded, “Get up and stretch your legs. Restore some blood flow.”

Taylor tried to stand but only flopped back onto the couch. “Just give me sec. I'll get there.”

Gregor reached down and hauled her up. “I believe that is enough for tonight. Elle wished to speak with you.”

Labyrinth's spirit exuded warmth and love in waves of golden light. The light washed out her features leaving only the impression of a diaphanous lady. If Taylor ever managed to see her face she knew it would be Annette's.

She knew it wasn't her mom. It was a visual metaphor for safety, comfort, protection. Just a symbol. That didn't stop her from smelling Annette's snickerdoodles and hearing, just above a whisper, her braying laugh.

“Hi, didn't get a chance to talk yesterday. I'm Elle.” She held out a hand. Elle was physically a few years older than Taylor, blonde hair verging on white, and a waif like appearance that could only result from little food and no exercise.

“Taylor.” She cautiously took the offered hand. A pleasant tingling flowed up her arm. She quickly let go. "So what do you do? In your spare time?"

Labyrinth shook her head, "I don't know anymore."

"Well, what did you do before all of the you know."

"Played house with my dolls. Walked the dog. Practiced the piano."

"There you go. Let's find a piano."

"I hated the piano."

"Ok, not the piano. What do Newter and Gregor get up to in their free time?"

"Gregor reads and studies. He is currently getting an online degree. Newter plays video games and spends a lot of time with his bedroom door closed."

Gregor blinked. Taylor was reasonably sure that was his stunned expression. "You paid attention to us?"

"Yes."

"What degree are you getting?" Taylor turned to Gregor.

"Theology."

“That's... interesting. Are you religious?”

“No. Perhaps in the future.”

Taylor turned back to Elle, "Are any of Newter's games multiplayer?"

Newter had several racing games and spare controllers for others to use. Gregor elected not to play. Elle and Taylor were both horrifically awful at Mario Kart. Taylor worse than Elle as every so often she would stop looking a the screen and just stare at Elle's spirit. Newter came back and laughed at them. The next round he joined in and lapped both of them. Twice.

x x x

The next day, Tuesday, Taylor walked into Winslow and turned in the transfer paperwork. This would be her last day at Winslow. This would be her last day at Winslow, why wasn't she cutting? Without Sophia around the bullying wasn't as pointed, but the other girls still generated a lot of hostility. There was no point in staying.

She headed towards the front door.

"Hebert. Taylor Hebert please report to the principal's office." The intercom yelled.

The door was right there. But it had to be about the paperwork. Taylor turned around and walked back to the office.

"Taylor Hebert. I was paged."

"Go right on in Ms. Hebert.” The secretary smiled at her, “They're waiting for you."

 _They?_ Taylor walked in. Principal Blackwell, an Asian woman, and Armsmaster were waiting. _Oh, they._

"Ms. Hebert-"

"I'm calling my lawyer." She pulled out her phone.

"Ms. Hebert, that won't be necessary," said Blackwell.

"So am I free to leave?"

"Armsmaster just has a few questions for you."

“And if I say no and leave?” Not looking up she selected JJ&J from her contact list.

“Ms. Hebert, you will stay here and answer the questions,” Blackwell said.

"Hence the lawyer." She hit the dial button. "Hello. Taylor Hebert. I'm being questioned by Armsmaster at Winslow High School. Thank you." She put the phone back in her pocket. "He'll be here shortly."

"Who?" Armsmaster spoke.

"Mr. Johnson."

"I see,” rumbled Armsmaster, “If you could wait here. I just need to confer with my colleagues, Ms. Hebert."

Taylor sat down. The Asian woman stayed in the office with her. Taylor looked out through the glass at Blackwell and Armsmaster. After a few words Blackwell left in a huff. Armsmaster tapped his helmet and started talking to the air.

“I'm sure that you didn't mean to hurt-” The Asian woman was saying something. Taylor tuned her out.

 _If only there was a way that I could hear what he's saying. Oh,_ duh. She turned her attention to Armsmaster's spirit. He was bird with a human face which made it a harpy, Taylor supposed. Except he was male and didn't have his chest hanging out. Instead he had on a rather fetching blue waistcoat and leather apron. It was sitting on his shoulder poking at what looked like a dinner plate with its talons. She mentally prodded him. _"Hey. What's he saying?"_

_"Leave me alone. I'm busy."_

_"I'm going to poke you until you tell me,"_ she singsonged.

_"No, you infernal girl."_

Taylor reached out and poked him. _"Poke."_ She poked him again. _"Poke. I'm going to keep on doing this until you talk."_

 _"Fine. Just stop it and leave me alone."_ He started reciting in a monotone voice, _"Already member of the Empire. Are you sure? She turned in papers to transfer to Immaculata and called a lawyer. The Johnsons. Damn. It's not that bad. We have her identity. First time she shows up in costume we'll have the leverage we need. That is if the Empire puts her on the front lines at all. An unknown Master could have more influence and do more damage behind the lines. No, Armsmaster, we need her to come in now. We can't arrest her, we don't have the evidence. Right, we need her to come willingly. You need to talk her into confessing to attacking Shadow Stalker. Before her lawyer gets there. I'll do my best."_

Taylor stopped looking at the spirit opting to chew a fingernail. _No evidence. Say nothing._

Armsmaster came through and loomed over her. He had very minty breath. “Ms. Hebert, as soon as your lawyer gets here my hands are tied. I want to offer you a deal, but you need to...”

 _Blah. Blah. Blah. I've seen this movie before. Actually, could he be quoting a movie? I'll have to do a search later._ She looked at his spirit. It had put on a jeweler's glass and was disassembling part of the dinner plate.

_"Watcha doing?"_

Armsmaster's spirit glared at her, _"I'm making the future."_

_"What's in the future?"_

_"This is the, heh, cutting edge of technology. The nanothorn. Once finished it will cut through anything from butter to Endbringer."_

_"That's pretty cool how-"_

“Are you paying attention to me?” That was _really_ minty breath. Was there some sort of tinker toothpaste?

“Yeah, sure, Lawyer.” Taylor turned back to the male Harpy, _"So how does it work?"_

_"Once finished the carrier vessel will contain approximately 16 billion nanothorns per centimeter cubed. They will be charged as they exit the tip of the vessel through inductive charging. Once the charge runs out a combination of a magnetic field and a vacuum will draw the nanothorn back into the base of the vessel. Outside of the vessel each nanothorn will vibrate at approximately 28.6 kilohertz for .72 seconds. The side of the nanothorn is approximately two nanometers thick. Expected resist-"_

“Hebert! This is your life on the line.”

“Yes. Important. Lawyer.”

_"So how fast is Armsmaster's motorcycle? I saw a video of it going from 0 to 60 in 2.2 seconds but I'm betting that it can go a lot faster."_

The bird smirked, _"1.9 seconds."_

_"Oh, now that is awesome. Does it still use gas or is there some sort of super tinker fuel?"_

_"High octane. But the engine needs-"_

“Hebert!”

“What?” Taylor shot up, “lawyer!” She barked.

“He's here. I have to say that I am very disappointed.”

She sank back down into her chair. _"So what about the top speed?"_

_"It's been tested to 184.5 mph. But the theoretical maximum is 348 mph."_

_"Wow. That's pretty awesome."_

He sniffed. _"No, not at all. I wanted to be the best but he wanted to move on. Other projects had more utility he said. Other projects might save lives he said. Forget about being the best. He'll just settle for good enough."_

“ _Maybe if he had more time? It sounds like he has too many irons in the fire.”_

“ _Bah. He fills his time with petty human concerns like sleep and food and status.”_

“ _He doesn't really need that last one does he?”_

“ _He doesn't need any of them! A few simple alterations to his biochemistry would take care of his need for sleep, and an implanted nutrient bar would only have to be replaced once every two days.”_

“ _I don't see him agreeing to that. Maybe just-”_

“And you need to stop harassing my client. She's a minor and you dragged her in here without an advocate or even the knowledge of her guardian.”

“Why isn't her father here? Maybe we should bring him in?" _What did she just say! Oh shit, she's looking at me. Play it cool._

"Yes, we should." What did he just say. He's a lawyer, he's my lawyer. He's supposed to be on my side.

"Unfortunately Mr. Hebert is unable to attend as he's currently recovering at Anders Memorial. It was deemed expedient to question Ms. Hebert as soon as possible.” _Go Armsmaster! I could kiss you right now. Except for you know, being too old, and the beard. The beard looks like it would be scratchy._

“But if it would be help bring this to a resolution perhaps it would be best to include Mr. Hebert.” The Asian woman spoke up. _Damn her. What's her name?_

“Am I under arrest?”

“No.”Armsmaster glared, “You are not under arrest.”

“Then I'm leaving. Have a nice day.”

“You can't-”

“My client most certainly can leave.”

“Toodles.” _Did I just say 'toodles'? Who the hell says 'toodles'? I really need to get that under control._

Taylor followed her original plan and left Winslow behind her. After a few paranoid loops and a detour to the Boardwalk she headed for the Palanquin. Danny wanted to meet her potential employer and Daria returned the favor. After school was let out Daria had agreed to drive Danny home. Taylor figured she could hole up at the Palanquin until then. Maybe work a little more on Newter's spirit or hang out with Elle.

The employee entrance led past the kitchen. As per instructions Taylor checked the security monitors before heading further. Faultline was talking to a man with a close shaven head and red muscle shirt. She waited for him to leave before going out to talk with Faultline.

“Who was that?”

“Empire messenger. There's a meet-up tomorrow night."

"You're meeting with the Empire?" She said with more than a little disgust.

"Not just the Empire.” Daria removed her her goggles and ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it out. “All the less than legal cape groups are getting together. The Bad Boy-Merchant fight has gone on too long. We're going pressure them to negotiate."

"What if they refuse?"

"They won't. If, say, the ABB agrees and the Merchants refuse, then the Merchants will be wiped out. Neither side can afford to disagree."

Taylor scowled, "And that'' be the end of it? The Merchants are just going to get away with what they did?"

"They lost a lot of face over attacking the hospital. They'll lose territory because of that. If that's any consolation."

"It isn't."

Daria sighed, "That's understandable. You were questioned again?”

“Johnson told you?”

“Yes. He said that you handled it well. You didn't give them anything they could act on.”

“They said that they would tell my dad.”

“They don't have anything to tell him. There's nothing to worry about,” said Daria.

"You _said_ they'd leave me alone. You _said_ that they wouldn't try to unmask me," accused Taylor.

Daria made a placating gesture, "What exactly did they say?"

"That I was a Nazi and that as soon as I showed up in costume the would be able to arrest me."

"They said all of that to you?"

"No. I eavesdropped on them."

"Right. Not a problem. Give it a month and they'll conclude that you're not with the Empire. The Empire's main strength is their large number of capes. If they got a new cape they would advertise her as soon as possible.”

“I don't think so. They said that since I was a Master the Empire might keep me a secret.”

“Slightly more awkward. But still manageable. For the foreseeable future you're going to be squeaky clean. Go to school, get your grades up so you can go to work, you might even have to wash a few dishes. We aren't going to give them anything to act on.”

"But the rules, Endbringers, escalation, you said-"

"I gave a general outline. The rules are a little different for you right now. They think you can control or alter people—that tends to scare people. But you're also a minor with a clean record. It would be easy for them to force you into the Wards."

"They want me to be a Ward?" said Taylor, wide-eyed and hopeful.

"A number of villains flip sides when they're caught. The ones who flip twice end up in the Birdcage. With your ability—control of any parahuman-"

"I wouldn't!"

"They don't know that, Daria pointed out. "With that sort of ability they'd keep you isolated, cut off, under constant surveillance. So yes, you'd be a Ward, but in name only and as part of a parole agreement. Unless they decided that it would be better to just stick you in a prison."

“I was just trying to help her,” scowled Taylor.

“And it's still assault with a parahuman ability. The only way they'll ever work with someone like you is with a Sword of Damocles hanging over your neck."

"But, but I could do so much. I mean, Leet, just Leet and his Vita-Chamber-"

"Vita-chamber?"

"I looked up the tube from that one game. Vita-Chambers during an Endbringer fight could save so many lives."

Faultline reached out and grasped her hand, “you and me, we're going to do a lot of good in this world. Have no doubt about that, Taylor. We're going to make boatloads doing it, but we are going to change the world. We just have to be smart about it. Right now we need a discreet way to build your reputation. A way to get backers so that when we say something like, 'Leet can make a cape immortal,' people will believe us. So, Taylor, have you ever heard of the Toybox?"

x x x

I think it definitely suffered being typed out with my thumbs and I'm not quite happy with it. Lot more editing needed than usual.

Looked it up and there is nothing in at least a few state's laws about minors requiring their guardian. But minors need their Miranda rights _very_ clearly laid out in front of them when placed in custody and the assumption of custody has a lower bar with minors too. Custody is defined as when you reasonably feel that you cannot leave.

I am happy with Blackwell. Calling Emma's parents as soon as someone wants to talk with her, but lets Taylor be questioned by a hostile Armsmaster. Not quite illegal but showing a very clear bias.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Subduction 1.7

Danny was waiting for them in a wheelchair almost jittering from cabin fever. “Dad, this is Daria Lane. Daria this is my dad, Danny.”

Daria wore a bright yellow dress with black leggings and a heavy winter coat that extended past her hands. “Hello Mr. Hebert,” she leaned over to shake his hand, “Please call me Daria.”

“Then just call me Danny. Thanks for everything you've done for my daughter. Not many people would offer a fifteen-year-old a job.”

“Not many fifteen-year-olds would stop to help a lady in distress. Did she tell you?” She waited for him to shake his head. “There I was on the Boardwalk, just finished visiting that little place that sells all of those organic sauces, when some young punk ran into me. Made me drop my bag and sauce just went everywhere, completely ruined my dress. Your daughter was the only one to stop and help me. Everyone else just kept walking by. I talked with her and I needed some extra help and she needed some extra money. It was a match made in heaven.” She leaned down and whispered, “also, I thought she was seventeen. Grew like a weed, didn't she.”

Danny laughed stiffly to avoid jostling the ribs, “Yes, she did. What would she be doing for you?”

“General menial work. She might wash dishes on the weekend but child labor laws wouldn't allow her to work late enough on school days. She would be cleaning and doing prep work on those days.”

Checked out Taylor took over pushing his wheelchair out of the hospital. The old wheelchair kept trying to veer right forcing Taylor to muscle it away from the wall.

Danny nodded, “Reminds me of when I was young.”

“Me too. I actually worked my way up until I could finally purchase my own club. Those were the days.” She sighed, “Great to remember, but terrible to live.”

“Isn't that the truth.” Danny smiled and let it slip away, “I told Taylor that until her grades went up I didn't want her to have a job.”

“That's fine. There's always work that needs to be done and the job will still be there in the future.”

“I'm glad you understand. Taylor should be ready before the summer, Winslow just wasn't good for her.”

“Dad," Taylor's voice went slightly squeaky, "I'd really prefer if we didn't talk about that.”

“Right. Sorry. It's over now. Some foundation just upped and paid for her tuition.”

“I told her all about it, Dad.”

“She did,” Daria agreed. “She was very excited. Even about the uniforms.”

“Polo shirts and khaki pants. I don't have to worry about standing out among all the rich kids,” Taylor explained.

“See? You raised a very practical daughter, Danny.”

“Thank you, Daria. Now help me out of this thing.” Taylor held the chair steady while Daria leveraged him up. Daria drove an SUV about a decade old. Clean, polished, and with built in seat warmers. Danny took two wincing steps and fell into the front seat. “Ah, freedom,” he sighed. He ran his hand over the dashboard. “Nice car.”

“I buy American. You get more car per dollar.” True in the 70's and only more accurate as time passed with globalization rapidly becoming a pipe dream. Taylor returned the wheelchair and took a seat behind Danny.

“It shows. So how did you start the Palanquin?”

“I'd like to say that I drew pictures and dreamed about the club since I was a child, but there was a lot of market research in it. The location, theme of the club, all of it was researched to fill a niche. And it paid off. Barely solvent with the most popular club in town. And you?”

Danny looked out at the city. The boat graveyard was hidden by buildings, but Danny turned in the general direction. “No one dreams about becoming a union rep. There was a job that needed doing and I was elected to do it. It's a good job. A necessary one.”

“What about you, Taylor, what do you dream of doing?”

Taylor shot a glare at the back of Daria's seat. “I don't know. I guess I might become a... writer?”

“You still have time to decide. I didn't decide on anything until I was twenty-two.” She tittered. “Though you might not want to wait quite that long.” Friendly, klutzy ditz with good business sense. Mission achieved.

The roads were clear and they made quick time. Which was good because helping Danny back out of the car and onto the couch took ten minutes. They made Danny comfortable and Taylor went to tell Daria good-bye. Taylor had developed a slight twitch in one eye. “What was all of that? It was like I don't even know you.”

“Know me?” She affected a southern accent and placed a hand over her heart, “I'm just a humble waitress who wanted to make it big in the big city. Of course you know me, darling. See you next week.”

x x x

A long series of experimentation with Taylor ended with the decision to modify Faultline's ability into a Shaker ability rather than Striker. Her normal power let her feel the path of least resistance like a lightning bolt traveling between her fingers or hands, rapidly fluctuating until Faultline chose a path to cut. The preview of the ability was promising if overwhelming. The path of least resistance outlined everything inorganic in a twenty foot radius. The only way someone would be able to sneak up on her would be if they were naked. And only 1 in 20 or so capes went around naked.

Other additions such as a subconscious defense or Brute durability were still possibilities. Though Taylor said that her spirit was becoming more recalcitrant the more they tried. The Shaker upgrade would have to suffice for now.

The true prize wasn't on the table. Taylor had refused to even try removing the Manton effect and Faultline hadn't pushed. Perhaps after she had seen combat...

For now Taylor would be spending the next few days playing nurse and gopher for her father. School starting the next Monday, it would be at least a week before Faultline could actually receive her upgrade. Which was fine, as she didn't want to go to Somer's Rock with an unfamiliar ability.

Tess owned Somer's Rock. A dingy pub amongst other dingy pubs. The only claim to fame was that Tess had a cochlear implant and would be happy to remove it and serve costumed villains for an exorbitant fee. Faultline personally didn't see the point. There were half a dozen ways to bug the bar even before tinker tech became an issue. If the PRT wanted to listen in then they would. She supposed that a deaf waiter added a nice bit of atmosphere, and the amount of money paid could make her a status symbol, but the entire thing was ridiculous.

Faultline walked in exactly five minutes before the scheduled meeting. Early enough to show respect but not so early that it might appear as groveling.

She walked past Tattletale and Grue. The Undersiders were a teenage villain group. If they somehow managed to avoid prison or death they would inevitably break up over some internal drama. Faultline had seen it a dozen times in the past. Faultline was involved in it in the past. It was uncertain whether Tattletale was holding off said drama or would be the ultimate cause. Probably both.

“I heard that you got a new recruit,” the little bitch spoke up.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Leet said there was a new tinker." Tattletale gave that damned grin, "Not a Tinker. Now why would you lie about that?"

Faultline turned around. Against Thinkers the only way to win was not to play.

“It would have to be something big. And new. Oh, it's that girl.” Shit. Faultline continued walking.

“Tattletale, shut up. Now isn't the time.” Grue used smoke to blind his enemies. He was effective but limited. Too proud of his own muscles, nothing beyond normal athletic levels. Worked as a leg breaker until the Undersiders picked him up. Now their nominal leader. Everyone, even Grue, knew that Tattletale pulled the strings. But Tattletale still allowed herself to be restrained by Grue.

How much does she know? A PRT leak would mean that she believes Taylor is a Master. It would also give her Taylor's identity. But was that the source or the extent of her abilities? Worrying. Especially if she tries poaching Taylor.

Faultline made a route around the room, bowed her head to Lung in a quick gesture of respect. The leader of the ABB was easy to understand and live with. Despite controlling an all Asian gang he didn't care about race. It was simply easier to form a rallying point around race, so Lung used race. Truthfully Lung didn't care about race because he didn't care about people. The only way to make him care would be to insult, steal from, or attack him or his gang members. And then he'd kill or maim. If you never interacted with him he would never seek you out. His gang members were a different story, but not even they were dumb enough to voluntarily mess with a cape.

He came alone. A sign of strength and weakness. He was strong enough to need no backup. But he had only one powered subordinate to help control the second largest gang in Brockton.

Kaiser was Lung's polar opposite. He acted because he cared about people. Of course he was a racist dickweed so his good intentions didn't count worth shit. The man controlled the most capes in the city bar none including the PRT. Some of those capes were on loan from Gesellschaft, but that didn't change the amount of firepower he controlled at any one time. The only gang that even came close to his equal was the ABB and any fight between the two would result in a Pyrrhic victory for the E88.

He was here tonight with Fenja. Or was it Menja? Super powered blonde twins, way to live the Aryan dream. Normally he would be with Purity as a show of strength. The most powerful blaster in Brockton Bay had been keeping a low profile for the last few months. Another baby? It didn't take a genius to pull out a calendar and count the months she had vanished last time.

Coil was here with a faceless bodyguard. He couldn't be making money with the way he ran his operation. Low amounts of unprofitable crime. Highly paid mercenaries with high tech weaponry. Someone was bankrolling him. Best case scenario was that he was a rich eccentric who wanted to play villain. Worst case was that a large organized crime group like the Elite were making a play for Brockton Bay.

Faultline sat here based on reputation alone. Brockton Bay was only a base of operation. She held no territory outside of her nightclub and had no ties with the local underground outside of the required politics, like this meeting. Gregor had her back and would be observing everyone else in his quiet, analytical way.

Über and Leet weren't present, that was expected. They were small time independents, the joke of Brockton Bay. Still, their operation was bigger than the Undersiders. How did they get the invite? Did Tattletale hear about this and gatecrash?

The Merchants made a loud entrance. They were the expected twenty minutes late. A sign of inflated self-importance and a blatant insult to everyone else in the room. Skidmark and Squealer in the castoff rags that served as a 'costume'. “What's up, my bitches?” said Skidmark satisfying his requirements for profanity and inanity.

They had a well deserved reputation as bottom feeders. It was their greatest strength. No questions asked recruitment resulted in a constant pool of hopefuls. Likewise they were the only choice in gangs for every non-white and non-Asian person in the city. The ABB could tap 27% of the population, the E88 38%, the remaining 35% was the Merchant's. According to the last census at least. They were cockroaches, lowly creatures that were impossible to wipe out.

“Everyone here?” Kaiser took command. Expected. Most powerful man in the room and reasonably close to a neutral party, in that he hated both parties involved. “We're here to talk about the current hostilities between the Azn Bad Boys and the Merchants. It has gone on long enough and now peace must be made.”

“That fucking shitstain started it. Those fuckers tried to roll us and we're supposed to take it? Fuck that!”

“Perhaps you would like to apologize.” Lung sat there in an aura of implacable calm belied only by him suddenly growing two inches.

“Enough! The PRT is a hair breadth's away from calling in reinforcements. This dispute must end now.” Kaiser, Lung, and Skidmark took turns glaring at each other. Men. Faultline signaled Tess for another drink.

A good deal of posturing went on. Tattletale sat there looking like Christmas came early, Coil never spoke a word, and Faultline kept sipping away at her Shirley Temples. After an hour of repeated threats, growls, and semi-productive bargain the new map of Brockton Bay had been worked out.

“The Merchants moved this into civilian territory as such they will lose the territory between College and Parks. In return the Empire will turn over the eastern docks to the Merchants.” Kaiser drew the new borders and pushed the map to the center of the table.

That had been a surprise. That the Empire would abandon territory. Kaiser had shrugged it off as “only filth now occupy that area. The Empire wants nothing to do with it.” But any concessions from them suggested that the PRT was far too close to bringing the big hammer down.

Lung reached under his mask and stroked his chin, “I find this acceptable.”

“Don't got a fuckin' choice now do I? Fuck, fine, it's a deal.”

They staggered their exit with Lung leaving last. The PRT wouldn't try a sting with Lung in the vicinity and the concession to Lung's power pleased the man.

“What do you think, Gregor?” asked Faultline.

Gregor's lips turned down. “Tattletale, she knows too much.”

“Yes. I don't think there is much we can do about it.”

“Warn Taylor.”

“There is that, yes. I'm more worried about Tattletale making a recruitment pitch.”

“I do not think Taylor would leave us. She is very loyal.”

“I hope not. But, fucking Thinkers. We need to set that road trip up as soon as possible. We can't just grab her and leave. She'd never agree to leave Danny, and Danny wouldn't let her go.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Either the Toybox needs to come here or Danny needs to find out about Taylor.”

“You would tell her father? I do not think she would appreciate that.”

“No, I wouldn't tell him. The PRT would.”


	8. Chapter 8

Subduction 1.8

Emily walked into the kitchen and dropped her bags with a loud thump and spread her arms wide. “Honey, I'm home.”

Faultline looked up from her payslips, “How was the stay?”

“Dull. You're paying for the minibars.”

“What do you think?”

“She seems legit. Pretty sure she hasn't tried to control anybody. Frightened kid with too much power and too little sense. But that she might be able to do it at all is scary.”

Elle wandered in and opened the fridge. “Hey Emily. How ya doing?”

Emily pointed at her, “What?” she turned to Daria, “What?”

Daria shrugged, “I wanted it to be a surprise. Surprise.”

“So Taylor-”

“Installed an off switch. You want one?” Elle held up a Coke.

“So it's real? She isn't just being remotely controlled?”

“Elle is not home right now. Ooooh,” moaned Elle hands thrust out like a zombie.

“The power alteration is real. I have videos of me experimenting with a Shaker power.”

“Shaker?” Emily's eyes sparkled. “As in aura of death? Region of sliced bits?”

“No. She refused to touch the Manton effect. But still, can you imagine the look on Armsmaster's face when his armor falls to pieces around him. I need a vote now, would it be funnier if I left him his undies or not?”

Emily gave it a moment's thought. “More humorous if he keeps them, more embarrassing if he loses them.”

Elle scrunched her nose, “Leave them on. Nobody needs to see that.”

“So,” Emily drawled, “what could she do for me?”

“Don't know. We'll ask her next week.”

“Boss," Gregor called from the living room, "you should watch this.”

The News was on, Armsmaster speaking to the camera in front of the American flag, visor polarizing every time a camera's flash went off. “-time constraints. I will be designing and implementing the next generation of systems for the Parahuman Response Team. My current responsibilities will be taken over by Miss Militia. I have served with her many years and she will be a fine leader of the Protectorate East North East. Ladies and Gentleman, Miss Militia.”

Miss Militia walked onto stage her weapon morphing into a Calvary saber. “Thank you. Let me just say that I am honored. Armsmaster is the best boss I could wish to have and it will be difficult to fill his shoes. In a few months every member of the PRT will be using Armsmaster's equipment. The lives saved will be immeasurable. While he brings in a new era for the PRT I am honored that he would entrust me with such a great responsibility.”

Emily leaned over the back of the couch. “Huh. Armsmaster was fired.”

“Yeah. Think anything will change?” Newter replied.

Emily snorted. “Don't see why it'd matter.”

“It does.” At their looks Faultline explained, “I was hoping for Armsmaster to bungle the situation with Danny. He,” she gestured towards the screen, “is rabidly authoritarian while Danny is a blue-collar union rep who married a radical feminist. They'd be trying to kill each other before you could say 'Sick Sad World.' But if they send someone more personable it could be problematic.”

“Good.” Gregor nodded, “I did not like that scheme.”

“Danny still has to find out somehow. The house of cards will come crashing down and it's better now than later.”

“Will they approach him at all?” Newter asked.

“Yes, a significant number of teenage capes don't inform their parents. Also presenting a case to the parent would usually be easier than an emotional, just triggered teen.”

“What are you thinking?”

“They aren't going to approach him with her present. They wouldn't want to risk a lawsuit or a hostile Master. They'll wait until Monday when she's back in school. What we need now is a bribe for Danny.”

“You told me he was a good man. A good man would not accept a bribe for endangering his daughter,” Gregor said.

Daria paced around the room. “It needs to be a bribe that both says that we have no desire to be villains anymore and that Taylor is safe with us.”

“Wait,” Newter looked up surprised, “we don't?”

“Not since it became more profitable to turn Rogue. I need to call the Toybox.”

“I guess Rogue sounds kind of sexy. Going to miss playing up the bad boy vibe,” grumbled Newter.

“Ah, Emily,” Elle stage whispered, “he thinks he was a bad boy.”

“Kind of hard to be a bad boy when you're a giant safety cone,” Emily whispered back.

“A neutered safety cone,” added Elle.

“I'll have you know that women line up just to get a taste of my bodily fluids,” Newter loudly declared.

“...Yeah, that's just gross. Come on, Elle, we have some catching up to do.”

x x x

At six on Sunday a bundled up Taylor walked out of her house. Daria would have preferred not to cut things so close but negotiations and paperwork took time. Taylor started walking down the sidewalk and Daria kept pace swinging a briefcase in one hand.

“I thought I'd get the week off.”

“Things have changed, Taylor. Have you been watching the news?”

 

“Is this about Armsmaster or the hero that just transferred to our Protectorate, the one with the really weird teeth?”

“Armsmaster. Long story short there is a much higher chance of the PRT talking to Danny. I think it would be better if we talked to him first.”

Taylor stopped walking, “I don't want him involved.”

“Don't worry. If we approach this right he'll be ecstatic. Now, boat graveyard, good thing or bad thing?”

“Bad thing. I don't know what-”

“And if your new employer helped get rid of it?”

“Even if you cut it up there would still be literal tons of metal to cleanup.”

“Ever heard of Big Rig? He's a member of the Toybox. He builds robots, big robots. I got to talking with him and he'd be happy to take a few thousand tons of scrap metal for a favor.”

“A favor from me?”

“Of course.”

“What would he want changed?”

“I don't know yet. It would depend on what you could change.”

“And I would have to tell my dad.”

“Before they can talk to him. Which they probably will tomorrow when you're at school.”

“Shit.” Her shoulders slumped and she scuffed at the ground. “What do I tell him?”

“Start off by telling him that you have powers and that you went to a group of Rogues.”

“Rogues?”

“Yes, we're Rogues now. Haven't committed any major felonies in almost a month. Straight and narrow, that's us. Be sure to emphasize that Rogues are just people using their powers for legal monetary gain. No tights, no fighting. He'll like that.”

“And when he asks about you? Ten seconds on the internet and he'll know you're a villain.”

“I prefer misunderstood socialist redistributing the wealth. Seriously? Tell him we used to be villains but we never killed and we turned over a new leaf. He works in this city. He'll understand.”

“Right. Now after he's called the cops and grounded me for life?”

“You give him this.” She handed the briefcase to Taylor. “Actually, maybe you should lead with that.”

Taylor shook the briefcase, it felt empty. “What's this?”

“The contract to clear away the graveyard. Toybox has already signed off on it. Now the only thing that needs to be done is for City Hall to sign. If Danny gets that through he'll be a hero.”

“A bribe.”

“A very good bribe.”

“He'll want to talk with you.”

“I imagine he will. Don't worry, I can take my lumps.”

They finished circling the block. Daria saw Taylor back to the house and sat outside in her car. She pulled out her copy of Doorways in the Sand and she had just reached the part where the protagonist found out that alcohol really was the solution to everything when her phone rang.

“Daria here.”

“Hi. Yes, he's, uh, ready to talk to you.”

“I'll be right there.” Daria walked up to the door and knocked. A red faced Danny answered. Without a word he turned around and led her to the dining room. Taylor was seated and quietly fiddling with her hands. Danny took a seat and Daria followed suit.

“Is there a reason that I shouldn't call the cops right now?”

“I'm not sure why you would.”

His hands tightened and he turned a slightly darker red. “You're a criminal. Taking advantage of my daughter.”

“First, I'm reformed. And ninety percent of my crimes were non-violent corporate espionage or art theft. Secondly, your daughter and I formed an equitable arrangement. She is moved out of Winslow, your bills are paid for, and she breaks no laws.”

“What was the other ten percent?”

“If you were to be charitable you could call it doing the job of a hero. Capturing and turning violent criminals over to the authorities. If you were to be more cynical we removed the competition.”

“You're a gang of mercenaries.”

“Ex-mercenaries. We've moved on.”

“Because of Taylor.”

Daria nodded, “Because of Taylor. Did she tell you what she's capable of?”

“Yes.”

“Everything? Healing Monstrous Capes? Altering powers? Locating parahumans? Controlling parahumans? She needs someone to help and protect her.”

“And that someone should be the Protectorate and not some villain.”

“Ex-villain. Danny, the PRT is interested in one thing and that is controlling capes. The first thing they would do would be to make her sign a contract. She would be drafted into the Wards. If she refused she would be charged with Assault with a Parahuman Ability, and then drafted into the Wards. Or thrown in prison,” she added as an afterthought. “The end result is that she'd be forced into the Wards along with the girl who shoved her in that locker.”

Danny froze. “Taylor.”

“Yes, Dad?”

“Is that true?”

Taylor didn't answer. Just sat wringing her hands. She finally nodded.

“Yes. The girl who assaulted her is a Ward.” Daria sat there for a few minutes looking at the pulsing vein on Danny's forehead. When it began to subside she continued, “This is what I offer,” Daria tapped the briefcase. “Wealth, safety, and a better city.”

“What would she be doing with you?”

“Did she tell you about Leet?”

“No, she didn't tell me about meeting another villain.”

“I was buying some equipment. Fire suppression capsules and the like. We found out that Leet has some untapped potential. Basically he can give limited immortality. Could you imagine that in the next Endbringer fight, Danny? Zero casualties. That's only one possibility. The Toybox is also interested in what she might offer. We'd be working with mostly Tinkers. I'll be honest, I want to be rich. But there is no point in being rich in a world where money has no meaning and that's where this world is heading. Taylor can help turn that around.”

Danny hunched over rubbing his temples. “Bullshit. Just... get out.”

“You have my number.” She let herself out.

She took a circuitous route to a dingy Motel 6. An irate Spitfire answered the door. “Goddammit, I just got back and wanted to sleep in my own bed. Is that too much to ask?”

“It shouldn't be more than a couple of days.”

“I thought you said this was safe.”

“Ninety percent sure that he'll take us up on this. Two days, Emily, two days.”

“Too much trouble,” whinged Emily.

“The boat graveyard is payment for a test. If the Toybox likes what they get, the next contract will be for several million. Once we do that we can grab Leet and get a commission of each Vita-Chamber sold. A few hundred thousand per unit easy. Get all of this started and we leverage it into pardons. Paying taxes is a lot cheaper than money laundering so we save money there too. We are about to make bank, Emily. Swim-in-money-Scrooge-McDuck-style bank.”

“And if he squeals?”

“I've been thinking about relocating anyway. If the situation in Brockton keeps deteriorating we won't be able to stay.”

“So we're going to stay because of her.”

“Or leave because of her, we'll probably find out in the morning. Get some sleep.”

x x x

'-Say I'm gloomy, Yea so sue me, Ex-' Daria rolled over and grabbed her phone. “Daria here,” she yawned into the receiver.

“I need to meet them. If Taylor is going to be around them, I need to meet them. All of your team.” Danny. A good sign. Or he had gone to the PRT and they were trying to pull an elaborate sting. Unlikely. That would put a civilian in the crossfire and they'd still be too busy cooing over Taylor to worry about Faultline.

“Sure. I can pick you up in... would an hour work?”

“Yes.”

Daria glanced at the alarm clock. Eight o'clock. Taylor would already be at school. Most likely not a coincidence.

“Everyone up. Make yourselves presentable. Up, up, up. We have to go back to the club. Move it people.”

x x x

The Hebert's door opened and Daria gave a small half-wave. “Hi, Danny.”

He locked the door behind him and slowly shuffled to her SUV. “How much of what you told me was true?”

“Everything except making Taylor wash dishes. I own a club, that may be less profitable than I implied. I have no intention of committing further crimes, or make Taylor do anything illegal.”

“You still want to use her.”

“Absolutely. Isn't that what employment means? I use her, she uses me, we both benefit. The miracle of capitalism.”

“Goddammit. This, all of this crap, is too much. 'Hi Dad, I have superpowers and I decided to join up with a villain.'”

“Ex-villain.”

Danny ignored her. “'The Wards? Oh I can't join them. I accidentally attacked one of them.' What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Your daughter can't stay independent, she's too powerful and valuable. She'll need a group to protect her. You need to help her choose the group most likely to work in her best interests.”

“Which is you.”

“I'd like to think so.”

“Because you're so magnanimous.”

“No. Because my interests align with hers.”

“If I do this what guarantees do I get?”

“You know my name and where I live. More than that, I need Taylor to cooperate with me. I'm not going to risk pissing her off.”

Danny chuckled. “You're a piss poor negotiator.”

“Honest negotiations keep everything simple. If she works for me we all become rich, if she works for the PRT at best she gets a gilded cage, if she tries to go independent she winds up dead. There is some middle ground, other groups she might be able to join, but that would take time—that you might not have—and approaching a new group will contain a certain amount of danger. Right now I'm the safest choice.”

“Are you? Why did you become a villain?”

Daria winced, “There is a reason that villains outnumber heroes: happy, well adjusted people don't get super powers. After I first got my powers I was in a bad place. I did a lot that I regret now. By the time I grew up I didn't have any other options. It's not all bad. I have a crew and we look out for each other.”

They walked through the front door of the Palanquin. Without the lights up or the music it was much more sedate. Starting from her left Daria introduced her team. “Newter, Gregor, Elle, and Spitfire. Spitfire is the only one here that has an actual secret identity so you'll have to forgive her for remaining masked.” They sat in a circle, Newter with his feet on the table, Gregor putting away a book, Elle nursing a cup of cocoa, and Spitfire lounging in a bomber jacket and aviator goggles.

“Neuter? You actually call yourself Neuter?” Danny asked incredulously.

“I got to choose a name and it fit. What with the colors and poisonous skin.”

“Oh,” said Danny, “Newt-er, like the animal. Not like, you know.”

“Not again,” Newter buried his face in his hands.

Elle poked at him with her shoe, “Told you.”

Danny surveyed them for a few seconds. “If my daughter is going to be around you,” he began, “I need to know you. I need to know why you're villains.”

Daria raised a hand, “Ex-villains.”

Danny glowered at her, “Were villains, then.”

Gregor started, “Newter and I, we woke up as monsters. We did not know where we were or where we came from. Faultline clothed us and sheltered us.”

Spitfire stretched, “I left home. Needed a job and Faultline offered.”

“That's it? You needed a job?”

“I burn things. There isn't a thing I could do as a rogue. And a hero... have you seen the fatalities for pyrokinetics in the Protectorate? They'd still expect me to go fight for truth, justice, and the American way, but they wouldn't let me use my powers. Too much collateral damage. It'd be a death sentence.”

“And you couldn't get a job not using your powers?”

“I have a checkered past. Kind of hard to get hired.”

The Brockton Bay Dockworker's Union leader nodded, “Yeah, I can see that.”

“I was in a hospital,” Elle spoke up, “It wasn't a nice place. I left with Daria and she looked after me. Taylor cured me. I was trapped in my own head and she saved me. I owe Taylor everything.”

x x x

“What did you think?” asked Daria. They were taking a scenic route back to Danny's house. Danny had spent the last few minutes in quiet contemplation.

“I'm not sure about Spitfire. Everyone else there was forced into it. She seems to have taken the easy path.”

“That's... not quite true. Trigger events, the time when we get our powers, come in times of stress or danger. We're put into hostile situations with powers we don't know how to use. Deaths tend to result. Spitfire was lucky, a number of third degree burns but no fatalities. The only options in her case were jail, accept a plea bargain and join the Protectorate knowing that any screw up could send her to jail, or become a villain. As she said the fatality rate of pyrokinetics in the Protectorate is extremely high.”

“You're saying she's in the same situation as Taylor.”

“Taylor is both better and worse off. She hasn't hurt anyone, but Masters like her tend not to be subject to the three strike policy. There is legal precedent that if a parahuman cannot reasonably be expected to remain in prison then they may be turned over to the Birdcage. Somehow Masters can never be reasonably detained. Flashdance, Maestro, Barnaby all committed crimes that would result in at most a decade of imprisonment if they had a different powerset. All ended up in the Birdcage. Did you hear about the Paige Mcabee arrest? A single felony conviction will send her to the Birdcage.”

“They wouldn't do that to Taylor.”

“No. Not once they know the extent of her abilities. Isolation in a Supermax perhaps, but never the Birdcage. They're much more likely to try and press gang her anyway.”

There was a van parked outside of Danny's home. Daria pointed it out, “PRT van. You've heard my pitch. Now you get to hear theirs. Hear them out but don't say anything or comment. 'Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.' If they get too pushy call a lawyer. Taylor wouldn't have given you their number would she? Here,” she handed him a business card, “You'll have to forgive me if I don't see you to the door.”

“Just like that. What if I told them about you?”

“I'd hate to lose the Palanquin but it's replaceable. Taylor's tuition is paid so you don't have to worry about that. You'd have to hire some new lawyers though, the Johnsons are out of your price range. Beyond that you would never see us again.”

She let him out and pulled away, paying special care to keep under the speed limit.


	9. Chapter 9

Faultline 1.9

Danny silently drove Taylor to school. Immaculata didn't have buses so it would have to become routine soon. Hopefully a less awkward routine. Danny clutched the steering wheel and kept his lips pursed. Taylor knew that going to Faultline might not have been the right thing to do, but it had been the best thing. Perhaps Danny would agree with her eventually.

“See you later, Dad.” Taylor grabbed her backpack and climbed out of the car.

Danny forced a smile, “Have a good day, Taylor.”

He drove away leaving Taylor outside her new school. The lawn outside was larger and better kept certainly. The students were all wearing uniforms so there weren't any gang colors. The windows were washed. It might not be so bad. Taylor shouldered her backpack and followed the tide of people inside.

The front office handed her a new schedule that was almost identical to her old one and a map. The quest to find her home room left her walking behind two middle school girls. One was talking about dirt bikes, making large expressive gestures. The one with a spirit was nodding passively, as they continued down the corridor she frowned and started rubbing her temples.

Taylor was more interested in the spirit. Heh. Nerd. Wonder what you can do? The spirit had pants pulled up halfway over its stomach, large coke-bottle glasses, bow tie, and an obvious pocket protector in a white button up shirt. He was the nerd the Anime-Cosplaying-Larping-Chess Club laughed at. Watching. Counting. There's probably more than that.

Taylor turned at the next corridor and hurried away. There was a buzz surrounding the girl that gave her a headache.

The teachers had all assembled a collection of homework for her to do to catch up to the class. While large it also wasn't the full month and a half that she had missed. For the most part she was left alone which was nice. Certainly new. Everyone else had already fallen into cliques. Taylor decided that she could try to introduce herself to one later. When she had adjusted. Though perhaps it might be easier at the start of the next semester?

Lunch was nice and came with a sideshow. One of the Freshmen's spirit was a statuesque man who seemed to be unable to move without pausing to pose in his little speedo. An Adonis. The pec bones are connected to the ab bones... The spirit scratched his banana hammock and yawned. Taylor's face flushed. Lift. Move. A Mover? It would be so awesome to have a flight power.

Danny picked her up after school. He waited until they pulled away before he started speaking. “Taylor, I talked to Faultline and the PRT. No,” he cut her off, “I didn't call them. They came by the house and apologized for the actions of their Ward. They also strongly hinted that you might be with some unsavory characters.”

“It wasn't her fault.”

“I'd have to disagree. Faultline made some-”

“It wasn't Shadow Stalker's fault,” Taylor corrected. “She shouldn't be punished.”

“Unless you're willing to go explain that to the PRT there's not much you can do, kiddo. As for Faultline, I don't like her, and I don't like that she lied to me, but I did some research to double check what Faultline was saying and,” he sighed, “I think she might be right. Now I'm not happy with what you've done, but I can understand it. Your abilities are dangerous, Taylor. More to you than anyone else.”

“I know.”

“I'm not sure that you do. You cannot do anything illegal, Taylor. Nothing. Ever.”

“I talked about it with Daria already, Dad.”

“I'm not sure that a villain has the best concept of what is and is not acceptable.”

“I think she knows what she's doing. She had the Johnsons explain a lot to me and then gave me a bunch of stuff to read. It's still in my room if you want to go over it.”

Danny nodded. “I will. She's still a criminal. Just by associating her might be enough for a conspiracy charge.”

“That would only occur if they proved that I agreed to perform an illegal act with her. And that's not going to happen. Dad, I know it's not safe, but it is the safest option I had.”

“Just be careful, Taylor. I can't protect you here.”

Taylor bit her tongue. You haven't protected me for years. “I know, Dad. I will be.”

He dropped her off a lock away from the Palanquin at her insistence, “Taylor,” he called after her, “this doesn't change anything. I still expect your grades to go up.”

“They will,” laughed Taylor, walking away.

Daria was waiting for her in the Palanquin's kitchen. Much better stocked than the living area's kitchen Daria had a habit of appropriating ingredients for her meals and insisted that the club's ovens maintained a more accurate and stable temperature. Today it looked like some sort of souffle had just finished baking.

“So how was Immaculata?” said Daria.

“Good.” Taylor paused, “At least two of the students are parahuman.”

Daria blinked, “I should have expected that. Tell me.”

“Two girls. One in the Junior High and one a Freshman.”

Daria hummed thoughtfully, mentally going over the known capes. “The Junior High girl might be Vista. High School might be Tattletale, but I think she's older than that, probably Rune from the E88.”

“Vista's powers have something to do with space manipulation, right? The Junior High girl isn't Vista, she's some sort of thinker. Something to do with counting. I don't know who Tattletale is, but the High School girl's power has something to do with lift or movement.”

“So one unknown and Rune. Get their names but don't do anything. Don't approach them but also don't be anything less than polite.”

“Doesn't that break the unwritten rules?”

Daria waved away her objection with a simple, “They're unwritten.” She grabbed the souffle and started walking back to the living area, forcing Taylor to follow “Don't worry, we'll probably never use it, but it's better to have and not need, than need and not have.”

Daria stopped outside of a door and knocked, “Emily! Taylor is here.” The door opened and Daria pointed her spoon at the short blonde, “Taylor, this is Emily. I'll leave you to get acquainted.”

Taylor waved. “Glad to finally meet you.”

“You too.” They stood awkwardly for a few moments. “They said you could give me a little tune up?”

“Yeah. There are limits, but you can probably do something really awesome with a few adjustments. Not that breathing fire isn't awesome, because it totally is. I just meant more awesome.”

“That would be great. I-”

Elle's head poked out from her room. “Taylor! And you've met Emily now. That's great. I'm feeling kind of peckish, who wants to get something to eat?” Entwining her arms with Emily and Taylor she pulled them outside. “I already got Newter and Gregor's orders and Daria just said something about heart attacks and zits but that's okay.”

“Elle, where are we going?”

“Fugly Bob's of course.”

“Right. And what's wrong with Taylor?” Taylor was being dragged behind Elle with a soporific grin on her face.

“Don't know. She gets like that sometimes.”

Fugly Bob's was widely acclaimed Brockton Bay's finest tradition. It said a lot about the city that one of its most notable landmark was a greasy spoon, but no one complained after eating there. Partly due to the quality of the food, but mainly because the massive sugar and fat intake left them in an insensate coma.

Emily, Elle, and Taylor had picked up their meals—double double bacon cheeseburgers with Parmesan fries and strawberry milkshakes—and were busy clogging their arteries. Emily would pick up Newter and Gregor to go bags before leaving. It was nice. Relaxing.

“...no, seriously 1.9 seconds with a top speed of 348 mph.”

Emily whistled appreciatively. “And he just told you all of that.”

“Yeah,” Taylor finished off the last of her fries, “He's pretty cool. Something of a jerk, but pretty cool.”

“And you haven't met any others?”

“Well, I've been to a couple of Parian's performances. Hers is flighty, but very nice. Other than that I've seen a few in passing, but that's different.”

“How so?” asked Elle.

“I can get a quick feel of what you can do from a glance, and if I know what you can do I can kind of play Marco Polo to find you, but to actually learn or talk about anything I need to sit down and zone out.”

Emily absently tapped out a rhythm on the table. “Should probably say 'trance' instead of 'zone out'. Play up the mystical vibe more.”

“I'm not too sure on that,” Taylor said around a mouthful of burger, “I mean, seeing spirits and all, doesn't it sound too much like the Faerie Queen?”

“There's other magic type capes. Like Myrrdin or the Adepts. You could try and model yourself after them.”

Taylor opened her mouth to answer but shut it when a Hispanic hunk and a white jock walked in. The hunk looked around the restaurant and froze when he reached their table before continuing his scan with an air of forced nonchalance. He punched the white guy on the arm and jerked his head towards their table. Quickly spinning on their heels they walked out.

“That was weird,” said Elle.

Emily tensed, swallowing her bite and asked, “What?”

Elle pointed a french fry at the door. “Two guys came in, saw us, and then walked out.”

Taylor took a slurp from her milkshake. “Two parahumans. Case 53s.”

Elle looked at her strangely, “They both looked normal.”

“Their spirits were like Gregor and Newter's. In better condition but still,” Taylor gave a small shudder, “ick.”

Emily set down her burger with a long suffering sigh. “Stay tight. I'm going to call Daria. What were their ages?”

“Teenagers.” Taylor shifted closer to Elle. “Couple years older than me.”

“Height, ethnicity, and proportions.”

“White, athletic, maybe a runner, a little taller than me.” Taylor waved a hand an inch above her head as an estimate, “The other was Hispanic, slightly shorter maybe, really broad shoulders.” Emily scooted out of the booth. “Where are you going?”

“Payphone. Random payphone is usually more secure than cellphone.”

She walked towards the payphone by the restroom, Elle and Taylor taking the opportunity to help themselves to some of her fries.

“... right.” Emily sat back down and slapped their hands away from the remnants of her fries. “It's not the Undersiders. Probably the Wards or Protectorate.”

“Who are the Undersiders and why would it be the them at all?”

Emily snorted in disgust, “Minor teenage gang. Almost recruited me, but one of their member strenuously objected. I still have the fucking scars. Led by a Thinker of some sort, Tattletale. Daria thinks she has an informant in the PRT.”

“And I wasn't told about them because...”

“Don't know. Take it up with Daria.”

“Right. What do we do?” asked Taylor.

“We aren't in any danger but you can't be seen with us. I value my anonymity and Elle is both publicly known and connected to Faultline. We'll all leave separately. Taylor, you'll have to take the bus back, sorry. Nothing to really worry about, well, except that all of the local Wards and Protectorate probably know who you are. You might want to worry about that.”

Taylor glared at her. “You're a real Pollyanna, you know that Emily?”

“I do try.”

The bus ride back to the Palanquin gave Taylor time to catch up on the required reading at least. Annette had gone over Hamlet with her when she was younger. Even, much to Danny's chagrin, pointing out the cruder phrases and innuendos for her.

It took her an hour to get back to the Palanquin by bus so of course Elle and Emily had already returned and there were no french fries left to steal from Newter and Gregor (well, Gregor, she wasn't going to try and steal food from Newter).

Gregor had vanished to take care of his food coma leaving the rest watching a TV show imported from Aleph. Something with a guy in a dirty undershirt shooting terrorists in a skyscraper. Taylor turned it off.

“Why the hell didn't you tell me that the Undersiders might know who I am?” she questioned Daria.

“Honestly? It slipped my mind. I found out the day after Danny got out of the hospital, and it wasn't important enough to bother you with immediately. And then the PRT situation came up. The Undersiders are more of a minor annoyance than an actual threat.”

“So I don't have to worry about them?”

“I wouldn't go that far,” cautioned Daria. “Be careful of Tattletale. She's the blonde, wears a purple jester outfit, some kind of Thinker. Well known for having secrets she shouldn't have. Specializes in psychological warfare. Nasty piece of work. What's this about the Case 53s at Fugly Bob's?”

“Two normal, kinda handsome guys came in. Saw me and walked out. They were Case 53s. I don't have anything else.”

Daria handed her a laptop around, pictures of the current Wards and Protectorate were already displayed. “Do you think you could say which ones you saw?”

“The white one might have been Gallant or maybe Triumph. The Hispanic one might be Aegis. Are you just going to collect every cape's ID?”

“If it falls into my lap I'd be a fool not to take it. But more importantly, how did the PRT find two perfectly normal appearing Case 53s? They tend to be very rare. Or possibly they're just better at hiding without the usual disfigurements,” Daria mused.

“Boring,” Emily drawled. “My turn. Pimp my powers, Taylor.”

At Taylor's questioning glance Daria nodded, “If you would.”

Taking a seat Taylor tuned out the room and focused on Emily's spirit. A baby sat on Emily's shoulder playing with her hair. Grabbing a handful and twisting it around before sticking it in its mouth. It looked over at her and burped, a little flame shot out. It would have been a cute baby except for the eyes. There was no sclera, the entire eye was filled with blue except for the pinprick pupils.

Taylor had to restrain herself from baby talk. Going 'who's a good baby, who's a good baby, you are, yes you are' would have been less than productive. After a few minutes conversation she regretted that. It would have been cathartic to insult the little, pretentious dick.

“Because I fucking say so. That's why you harlot!” the infant bawled.

“I can rip out your tongue,” snarled Taylor. “I've done it before.”

“Empty threats from an empty skull. Imbeciles like you should know their place.”

“I-” The baby started wailing drowning Taylor out. “Ugh. Tylenol, aspirin, something for this massive headache please.”

Elle fetched her a Tylenol and a glass of water. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she winced, “fine, just had that a baby crying in my ear for the last- how long has it been?”

“Ten minutes,” Daria said.

“Right. Ten minutes. I just have to know, is the theme intentional or accidental?” At their confused looks Taylor clarified, “Newter makes drugs, Gregor synthesizes chemicals—still not sure how either of them do that—and Spitfire mass produces simple chemicals. I can't think of anyone else with similar powers in Brockton and you have three of them.”

Daria raised an eyebrow in bemusement. “Accidental. So her power isn't to, well, spit fire?”

Taylor shook her head. “No. She's just stuck on one chemical right now. If you give me a sample of something then she could switch to that.”

“Could I switch between chemicals without you?” asked Emily.

“No reason for you not to.”

Emily contemplated for a moment, “So I could create high quality booze?”

“Maybe,” Taylor shrugged. “I don't know what's in good quality alcohol.”

“Just a minute.” Daria went to her room and came back cradling a blood red bottle. “Dalmore. 21 years aged.”

Emily looked at the bottle. “Expensive?”

“Very.” Daria very carefully opened it and poured out a small shot glass for Emily. Emily threw it back. “Philistine,” she sniffed.

Emily thumped herself on the chest. “That's the good stuff, alright.”

“How would you know?” Daria scowled, “You didn't even taste it.”

Taylor tuned out their argument for a moment before shaking her head. “No. Too complicated.”

“Damn,” Daria swore. “Could have supplied the club with free liquor.”

The rest of the room was incredulous. Emily said it first, “You wanted me to puke out alcohol to serve to your clientele?”

Daria gave a faux arrogant sniff, “Anything would sound bad when you phrase it like that.”

“The dimensional rip doesn't have to stay in her mouth, you know,” pointed out Taylor.

“Dimensional rip?” Emily clapped her hands over her mouth. “In my mouth?”

Taylor blinked in confusion, it seemed too obvious to be a big deal. “Well, yeah. You need to grab the mass from somewhere. It's not like saliva. You don't have a napalm gland. I could just move it somewhere else.”

Hands still over her mouth, Emily perked up. “So I could throw fireballs.”

“From one hand, yeah. It would just require some forceful negotiations,” Taylor snickered eying the little brat on her shoulder.

“Still awesome.”

Daria leaned back with a nasty grin, “What about containment foam?”

“I dunno,” Taylor shrugged, “Do you have a sample?”

“I can get one. What about Newter's sweat?”

Newter waved an arm over his head, “Nope. Veto. Not happening. That's mine.”

Taylor looked at her watch. Already after six. Damn. “I still have homework to do. Can we wrap this up?”

“Fine. Can you finish modifying me first?” asked Daria.

“Probably. Give me a moment to check.” Taylor leaned back. “Good afternoon Ma'am, how are you doing?”

Daria's British governess smiled at her and discreetly cleaned her knife on a handkerchief. “Quite well, dear. And how have you been?”

“Much better, thank you. Do you think that you might be ready to to change?”

She touched the tip of knife to her lip before nodding. “Yes. I think it will be most exciting.”

“Thank you, we are ready now.” Taylor blinked and stretched. “That should have done it.” Faultline sat frozen. Taylor walked over and poked her. “Give her a few moments. She did this last time too.”

Emily reached over and picked up the whiskey. “What?” She poured herself another shot. “It really is the good stuff.”

“Are you sure that you want to be doing that?” asked Newter.

“What's the worst that could happen?” One of her sleeves separated fell off and drifted down her arm. “Point taken.” She slid the glass in front of Daria. “Here you go Daria, drink up. Vashe zdorovye!”

“Thanks. It's a little overwhelming. Taylor, go tell Rodriguez that you need a ride home.” She sat staring at the ceiling. “We really have to start working on getting you a driver's license. Elle too. See you... whenever. I'm going to have a lie down now.”


	10. Chapter 10

Subduction 1.10 - Lisa  
  
  
Lisa sat in her room plugging away at her laptop. Bob from accounting still hadn't changed his password. She took a quick look through his e-mail and sent a request for a password reset for Steve. Steve's account was now back to the default password: PASSword1234. A skip, hop, and jump over to the secure network because the night shift just _had_ to play Doom. Upload the modified firmware to Camera 34, and now the light would remain off even when Camera 34 was on. _Oh, Camera 34, the times we've had together. You fulfill me, Camera 34._ Turn on Camera 34. And wait.  
  
Piggie walked into the small utilitarian meeting room. The only decoration a painting that would not look out of place at a Best Western. She took a seat at the head of the table, Miss Militia and Armsie at her left and right hands, the new member, Emoticon,  


_Empath, secondary ability._

_Unknown primary ability. Classified._

_Primary ability dangerous and disturbing._

  
sat next to Armsie, a man in a suit  


  
_L_ _awyer._   


_New addition to meetings._

  
was next to Miss Militia, and Meat Shield sat farthest from Piggie next to Emoticon.  
  
Piggie was irritated. So she was in a better mood than normal. “Let's get this over with. Miss Militia, please bring us up to speed.”  
  
“Taylor Hebert, likely newly triggered Master of unknown capability. Discovered after Shadow Stalker was attacked. Most likely joined the Empire Eighty-Eight,” said the walking Second Amendment. “Little to report. No visible change in the Empire's roster, the police haven't heard anything from their informants. The most contact we've had with her since Armsmaster and Ms. Yamada interviewed her was when Aegis and Triumph saw her at Fugly Bob's.”  
  
Taking this as his cue Meat Shield stood and started speaking in the same tone he would if he was giving a book report. “We were at Fugly Bob's when we spotted Ms. Hebert eating with two blonde women.”  
  
“How did you know about Ms. Hebert?” interrupted the lawyer.  
  
Miss Militia answered for him, “We informed the Protectorate and Ward teams that Ms. Hebert had most likely affected one Ward, Mr. Giron. It seemed a better option than letting rumors run rampant. They were ordered to avoid her and that any reprisals would be harshly punished.”  
  
“Very well,” said Giron.  
  
“We left immediately,” Meat Shield continued, “There really isn't anything left to tell.”  
  
Miss Militia picked up the report, “The ATM across the street showed that she-”  
  
“Hold on. ATM?” Giron interrupted again.  
  
“Yes, we requested that the bank give us a copy of the footage for the appropriate time. It's a public street and the Bank didn't ask for a warrant.”  
  
“Ms. Hebert is still a minor with a clean record and at least one very strong, possible lawsuit against the PRT. This comes close to stalking and harassment. Dangerously close. There is more leeway given for cases like these, but you have yet to provide anything beyond shaky circumstantial evidence that she even is a parahuman. If she sues and this comes out in discovery then I can guarantee a scandal.” _Hoho, who's been a bad little_ _piggie_ _? You have, you naughty, naughty thing._  
  
Piggot made a fist and then hyperextended her fingers. Once. Twice. And exhaled. “Be that as it may, since the damage is done we might as well benefit from it, Miss Militia?”  
  
“She exited the premises alone but she entered with these two.” A grainy video played of three girls walking into the restaurant. “Armsmaster, have you been able to identify them?”  
  
“I could give you a long list of who they are not, but the quality of the video is too low for any positive identification. Now if I just limit it to known E88 members—and let it be said that I object to this—the short blonde might be Rune and the taller one might be Purity.”  


_Spitfire and Labyrinth._

_Labyrinth deviates from known character._

  
“I thought you said she was with the Empire?” Meat Shield said.  
  
“It's the most likely possibility. Hebert somehow acquired enough resources for private school and lawyers. The lawyers have a history of defending E88 members. The private school is Christian and mostly white. Finally, Shadow Stalker was a Ward and black. That she has some backing is undeniable, and that it is E88 is probable, but not every person she talks to will be with the E88.”  


__Taking demotion with grace._ _

_Out of character._

_Met with Hebert twice._

  
Piggie tried to make an intimidating smile. It came off as a grimace. “So the video tells us nothing.”  
  
“Yes” admitted Miss Militia.  
  
“From now on all surveillance on Ms. Hebert is to go past Mr. Giron first. Next,” she barked.  
  
“We don't have anything new on _her_ , but her father, Daniel Hebert, has acquired third party funding to pay for the Toybox to clean up the boat graveyard. The Mayor is going to announce it tomorrow,” Miss Militia said.  


_Hiring Toybox beyond Faultline's probable means._

_Service offered._

  
Piggie let her face conform to her natural scowl. “Goddamn Toybox. Put the word out that we can expect an upsurge of tinker tech devices.”  
  
Meat Shield raised a hand. _Isn't that cute? He's waiting to be called on._ After Piggie waved at him he asked, “Why are we allowing the Toybox at all? Aren't most of those devices illegal?”  
  
Armsie explained, “Word from on high is that we are to turn a blind eye to the Toybox itself. Target their couriers and buyers, confiscate any equipment, and charge them only if they are in the commission of another crime.”  
  
Meat Shield didn't like that. Black and white morality was so cute. It was like a little puppy. “So we just ignore it when they break the law.”  
  
Miss Militia gave it her all, “It is the PRT's official policy that Rogues are supposed to be encouraged. If we go after _the_ most successful group of Rogues we can expect an upsurge in the number of villains. While they often skirt the law they tend to avoid selling anything truly dangerous. Certainly less dangerous than half a dozen fully kitted out Tinkers being forced to turn villain.”  
  
Meat Shield sat quietly. Obviously fuming.  
  
“This cleanup it would seem to be out of character for Kaiser,” Piggie mused.  
  
“Taylor Hebert might have gained control of the E88.” The first words that Emoticon had spoken. The shape of his teeth gave a speech impediment. His words came out slurred and it took a few moments for the rest of the room to decode what he had said.  
  
“Outside Thinkers say no. Cultural and financial markers have remained constant for Brockton. If Ms. Hebert is in control and willing to spend the Empire's money on an urban revival project than we would have noticed other changes.” _Interesting. Need to research that._  
  
  
“It could be a payment,” pointed out Miss Militia, “Daniel Hebert is a Dockworker's Union representative. His daughter may have requested payment in services rather than cash.”  
  
“It will be harder to find something to charge her with if she doesn't show any signs of wealth. It would also help make a jury sympathetic to her,” said Giron.  
  
“On the other hand,” argued Miss Militia, “cleaning up the graveyard will be a significant boon to the city. That it will be done by Rogues should be a PR coup for us.”  
  
Piggie snorted in agreement, “Expect to give a speech soon, Miss Militia. We're also going have to provide protection during the cleanup. I need a schedule written up.”  
  
“Yes, ma'am. If Kaiser really is bankrolling this we then we don't have to worry about the E88. Even if he isn't, attacking the cleanup would be bad PR for him. Same for Coil. That leaves the Merchants and the ABB. The Merchants will almost certainly attack in the first few days. It's difficult to predict what the ABB will do. Probably nothing, but right now the only one that might be able to take Lung down is Armsmaster.”  
  
The rest of the room looked over at him. Armsie answered the unasked question. “New tranquilizer. Hasn't been approved by the board yet.”  
  
Piggie leaned back with a hand place flat on the table tapping out a rhythm. After a few moments thought she smiled and nodded at Armsie. “As director I am giving you special dispensation to equip the teams until the board has finished vetting them. Make sure that you emphasize that the sky had better be falling before anybody uses them.”  
  
Armsie nodded and Miss Militia continued with her brain storming. “After that the first few days the Wards can can take over during the evening and weekends.”  
  
Piggie scowled, “The Youth Guard is breathing down our neck. Make sure that they aren't over scheduled.”  


_Change in Ward scheduling. Lower hero population during the night._

  
“This will have to replace some of their patrols, but their visibility at the cleanup should be higher than during patrols anyway,” Miss Militia said.  
  
“I'll have PR prepare them some responses. Someone make it clear to Clockblocker just what will happen to him if he deviates.”  
  
Meat Shield jumped to like a good little dog, “Yes, ma'am.”  
  
“Director, I would like to inform the Toybox about Taylor Hebert being a possible Master,” said Armsie.  
  
“No,” vetoed Giron. “That crosses the line.”  
  
Armsie glared across the table, “I would at least like to inform them that there is a possible Master in Brockton Bay and she is in part responsible for hiring them.”  
  
“You can do that, but you will need to maintain anonymity. No hinting or twenty questions.”  
  
Piggie nodded, “Permission granted.”  
  
Armsie's lip twitched. _He almost smiled!_ “Secondly, Toybox has Cranial. She specializes in the brain. I'd like for her to check over Sophia, perhaps we can find out more about Hebert's power.”  
  
“What would it cost us?”  
  
“Some of my time would be the cheapest option.”  
  
“I need more details than that before I can agree.”  
  
“I'll get on that,” he said.  
  
“What is the status of the Dragon suit?”  
  
“The guild has agreed to stationing-” the phone in the center began to ring, “-a suit here.”  
  
Piggie held up a hand, palm out to the room and picked up the phone, “Director Piggot here. I see,” she dropped the phone back on the cradle. “The Simurgh is on approach to Canberra, Australia. Strider will do pickup in ten minutes.”  
  
The heroes stood and began to file out. Aegis and Miss Militia taking the lead when Piggot stopped Armsmaster. “Armsmaster, not you,” Piggot said.  
  
“What? I'm-”  
  
“Orders from Costa-Brown. Your prediction software is too valuable. Until it's finished or another Tinker can complete it you are off S-class missions.”  
  
He ground his teeth before spitting out a “Yes, ma'am,” and stalking out the door.  


_Not propaganda. Armsmaster's project important._

_Significant enhancement to non-capes._

  
_Fuck._ “Brian,” Lisa yelled, “mission is off for today.” Lisa carried her laptop to the common dining table. “Truce is on.”  
  
“Fuck,” Brian stopped punching his bag— _and boy, does that sound like a euphemism—_ and walked over, “What is it?”  
  
Lisa didn't look away from the screen. She was busy looking up maps and searching for all the names currently connecting to Dragon's network. So handy for the PRT to get a live feed from Dragon. “The Simurgh. Australia.”  
  
Brian sat with her listening to growing casualty list. After a few minutes he retrieved a bottle and poured both of them shots. Rachel was off somewhere with her dogs and Alec continued playing his video game, at least he had enough presence of mind to turn down the volume. A constant litany of 'down' and 'deceased' played. Lisa kept a record of who died in a word document as the battle continued.  
  
When they finally heard 'Simurgh retreating' 103 capes were dead and an entire city quarantined.  
  
Lisa sat in her room. Nothing made a person feel so small as realizing that gods did indeed walk the Earth. _Fucking Endbringers._  
  
The wall was covered in red string tying all the information she had about Hebert together. Not because it helped, it just always looked so cool in the movies.  
  
Madison Clements, Emma Barnes, and Sophia Hess. Three bullies but only one affected. Sophia Hess, Shadow Stalker, the only parahuman of the three. Only others known to be affected were Labyrinth and Armsie.  


_Ability does not work on people._

_Works on parahumans._

_Able to detect parahumans._

  
_Dangerous. Her existence breaks the unwritten rules. Well, she's not the only one._  
  
Was it possible that Faultline was controlled? Controlled how? Direct emotional manipulation, false memories, personality alteration, direct puppeting of body.  
  
Shadow Stalker's file suggested personality alteration. No evidence for false memories. If Hebert was able to directly control people likes puppets, then her control was good enough to fool Lisa. Emotional manipulation was possible, but unless given years of reinforcement it would require constant input, and that had the same problem as puppeting, Lisa would have noticed. Personality alteration, subtle enough for Tattletale not to notice but significant enough to force Faultline to act massively out of character. Unlikely.  
  
Faultline was not controlled.  
  
Faultline hired Toybox because Hebert was that valuable.  
  
Taylor Hebert could control parahumans. _Not valuable enough. Must have secondary ability that is more valuable._ If they were trading with Toybox, Hebert must have noncombat applications. Most likely relating to parahumans. _Locate parahumans in wide range? Find Toybox more Tinkers? Possible._  


_No. Toybox well known._

_Recruitment not an issue._

  
Lisa stood up and traced a finger over the board. _Why meet with Uber and Leet?_  


_Leet is a Tinker. Easily accessible._

_Testing power on Tinker._

_Preparation for the Toybox._

  
_Hebert's power works on parahumans. How is it valuable? Detection not valuable enough. Control not valuable enough. Negation useful, but not valuable enough. Opposite of negation, enhancement. New. Very valuable._   


_Hebert can enhance powers._

  
_Too big for Undersiders. Tell boss? Unknown risks, unknown rewards. Don't tell._  
  
Her eyes went over the board and stopped at the most recent sheet. The casualty list for Canberra. Over a hundred capes dead. _Non-sustainable._  
  
 _Too important. Must tell. Who? Not PRT. Too inefficient, bad blood, won't maximize resource. The Guild. Better. High probability of boss finding out. Need exit strategy first._  
  
Lisa paused. _Hebert enhances powers. Needed to test on Tinker. Leet. Leet hasn't been seen recently. What's he building?_


	11. Chapter 11

Subduction 2.1  
  
Life was good for the Heberts. The Simurgh attack had overshadowed the announcement of the boat graveyard cleanup, but Danny still had his fifteen minutes of fame. The paparazzi didn't exactly stake out their house but Danny still gave a handful of interviews. The union had doubled down on the food given to the Heberts during Danny's convalescence. The refrigerator was bursting at the seams.  
  
At Daria's insistence Taylor began to run every morning. Not wanting to waste the time Taylor read up on triangulation and purchased a map of Brockton Bay and a compass. A few mornings out and a couple of miles jogging, and she knew the approximate location of the hideouts and homes for almost every villain and hero in Brockton Bay. After all, like Daria said, it didn't matter unless she used it.  
  
Today would be the day the Toybox came to town. Taylor couldn't stop herself from humming 'Pop Goes the Weasel' at random intervals throughout the day.  
  
School was much better. She had caught up with the class and was making friends.  
  
Taylor sat down. “Hello.”  
  
Theo looked up from his book. “Hello.”  
  
They ate lunch. Chicken sandwiches with an apple. Taylor stood up with her tray. “See you later.”  
  
Theo nodded. “See you later.”  
  
A good school day.  
  
Daria picked her up after school. “Excited?”  
  
“Yes.” _Nervous, giddy, apprehensive. So yes, definitely excited._  
  
Daria parked behind the club. “Get changed, Gizmo. The guide will be here at four.”  
  
Taylor forced the mental switch. “Right, Faultline.”  
  
The guide arrived promptly at four, a middle aged man wearing a worn suit and glasses. Faultline stepped forward. “Hello, mister?”  
  
“John Smith. I am here to take Faultline's crew to the Toybox.”  
  
The sign out front read 'Perfectly Normal Store.' In the window was a placard, 'This haberdashery is perfectly normal and very boring. Your local Big Retailer is sure to have any and all items you might want. You should try there.'  
  
Spitfire chuckled, “This is your idea of low key?”  
  
“No, this is our idea of advertising. A mysterious building that looks a hundred years old appears overnight. It loudly proclaims that not only is it a store but it tells an obvious lie. It offers mystery and wonder without being so crude or crass as saying 'magic, here for the taking!'”  
  
“So this is the public entrance?”  
  
“The official unofficial public entrance, yes.”  
  
Spitfire glared at him for a moment, “Do I want to try to parse that out?”  
  
He shrugged, “Probably not. The Toybox is not limited to one entrance. For instance we have the official public entrance over in Hyde Park and the unofficial entrances elsewhere.”  
  
“What about the unofficial official entrance?” asked Labyrinth.  
  
He pushed his glasses back up his nose. “That would be ridiculous.” He led them through the store. Past the glass baubles and trinkets, the cages of tiny scuffling robots, and past the sales counter with an unusually perky attendant who smiled and jerked her hand in a wave. “Each entrance serves a purpose. The official entrance is where we set up our primary sales, the unofficial entrance is for the less well known goods. This entrance is for villains and rogues. It's monitored by the PRT but they have a strict hands off policy.”  
  
“Needlessly complicated,” snorted Spitfire.  
  
Smith nodded in agreement before saying, _sotto voce_ , “But isn't it so much funner this way?”  
  
The back of the shop was a single bare room. No windows, goods, decorations. Nothing beyond cinderblock walls and a concrete floor with a red 'X' painted on the center. Smith herded them all onto the 'X', “Open Sesame.”  
  
And they were outside. The sun was shining, the grass was green, the faint persistent smell of diesel and rotten fish was gone. They stood in the middle of a suburb around them people trimmed hedges, watered lawns, or sat on their porches reading a newspaper. Taylor finished spinning around. “Faultline, when you kept on saying _small_ group of Tinkers in a _pocket_ dimension I thought you meant a _small_ group of Tinkers.”  
  
It was an entire town. A parody of American Dream. There were white picket fences! Actual white picket fences bordering perfect lawns. As they walked on the inhabitants stood with the same jerky motions as the shopkeeper. A wearing slacks and a sweater stood up from where he was pruning the shrubbery and took a pipe from his mouth, “Howdy neighbor!”  
  
As if that was a cue the windows to the neighbor's house opened and a buxom lass in a white and red patterened dress leaned out and waved, “Wonderful weather we're having!”  
  
“Golly gee! Welcome to Mayfield.” A kid on a scooter made of packing crates skid up to them.  
  
Newter jumped back and looked for escape routes. “What the hell?”  
  
Smith kept calmly walking. “The Toybox _is_ a _small_ group of Tinkers and their families, and a few employees and _their_ families. Current population is 84 in a town designed for 500. We couldn't have an empty town now could we? These are all robots. Androids, flesh bodies, a couple of holograms all with a simple chatbot stuck in their head. When we get new citizens we stick a few in storage.”  
  
“And the Pleasantville getup?” asked Spitfire.  
  
“It's better than the other contenders. The next top two options were a cyberpunk dystopia and Alice in Wonderland.”  
  
Emily opened her mouth, then closed it, opened it, then gave up with a muttered, “Geeks.”  
  
Smith continued to lead them through town. The friendly abominations continued to smile and wave. Newter kept mumbling about zombie apocalypses while Labyrinth started walking up and poking them in the face, they thanked her.  
  
“How do you stand living here?” asked Spitfire.  
  
“Every Thursday we test the defense systems. We hand out shotguns and turn the bots to combat mode. Besides, we might change the décor in another few months. Currently old fashioned western is ahead in the polls.”  
  
They stopped at a diner. Red fake leather, chrome surfaces, white linoleum flooring and an actual soda fountain, 1950's diner.  
  
A kid sat at the counter playing with his milk shake.  
  
“Sir, we're here.”  
  
The boy spun the stool around. “Very good, Jeeves. You are excused.”  
  
A pained expression flashed across Smith's face. “Very well, sir.”  
  
“Barkeep, shakes for all.” The kid called to the proprietor.  
  
They were very good shakes. Thick chocolate with cinnamon infused whip cream garnished with strawberries. The kid led them over to a booth, he sat down and swung one foot up onto the table.  
  
The kid raised his glass to them, “So I hear that you found something interesting. Intriguing even. And you decided to bring it to me. I commend you on your good sense. We here at the Toybox pride ourselves at being the best. I personally-”  
  
The diner door flew open with a crash. “Dodge,” a rotund woman shouted, “what have I told you about going behind our backs?”  
  
Dodge fumbled around his belt jabbing his hands in his pockets. “That I shouldn't do it. And it's very wrong. And bye.” He fell into the seat disappearing.  
  
“I'm going to have to have another talk with his mother,” she huffed before she turned to Faultline's crew, “I'm sorry about him. We don't get many strangers and he likes to show off. I'm Glace and welcome to the Toybox.”  
  
A round of handshaking and greetings commenced before Glace took them to the secret entrance in the barber's shop. Taylor was seriously beginning to question the professionalism of the Toybox.  
  
Glace led them into a room with a large table, a large fireplace, large throne like chairs, and a large window showing the view of a high tower in the middle of a thunderstorm. _Awesome._ _N_ _o, stupid._ _N_ _o, stupidly awesome._  
  
“Pyrotechnical couldn't be here but,” Glace's hand swept around the table, “from left to right we have Cranial, Toy Soldier, Bauble, and Big Rig. You've already met Dodge, you'll probably see him again soon.”  
  
Cranial was wearing a lab coat and had red hair. That was all that could be seen of her because she had her face two inches from the notebook she was furiously writing in. Toy Soldier was wearing what looked like a band jacket complete with tassels. Bauble leaned her head on a glass arm while she pushed a pen between her to flesh and blood limbs. Big Rig was _big_. Paul Bunyan complete with flannel, but sadly no blue ox.  
  
They all gave a wave to Faultline and her gang, except for Cranial who was too busy writing in a pad to look up. “This would be Gizmo,” Big Rig boomed. It didn't seem to be intentional, he just boomed. He was a boomer.  
  
Taylor's voice caught in her throat and it came out as a squeaky, “Yes?” She thumped her chest. “Yes. That'd be me. Hi everybody.”  
  
“Pleasure to meet you,” he rumbled.  
  
“Likewise.”  
  
Big Rig reached around Bauble and Toy Soldier and tapped Cranial on the shoulder. “What? Oh, they're here. Great, let's get this started. Follow me.” She scuttled out of the room.  
  
Taylor made to follow but was stopped by Glace. “It'll take her half and hour to set up. She'll call us when she's ready.”  
  
Toy Soldier opened his arms wide, “Sit down, sit down. Tell us about yourself.”  
  
“Um, still a minor. In high school. Like the color blue.”  
  
“Yes, yes. Very important stuff that. When did you trigger?” Bauble grabbed him by the ear and yanked him over so she could whisper in his ear.  
  
“Early January.”  
  
Bauble continued the line of questioning, “Would you be comfortable with telling us how you triggered?”  
  
“I'm not entirely sure how. I think it was the locker—I was shoved into a locker full of... stuff—but I didn't find out I had powers until almost two weeks after the locker.”  
  
“Interesting,” Bauble's forehead creased, “At what range can you sense parahumans?”  
  
“Passively, maybe a hundred feet or line of sight. Actively, I don't know my limit. I've only looked for people in the city. Oh, and I can't actively sense Case 53s.”  
  
“Why is that?” asked Glace.  
  
“Active sense is like Marco Polo. I shout out the function of your power and then just follow your reply. Um, for example, you're function is best summarized as 'ice inventor.' Case 53s don't have a function and they're spirits can't respond.”  
  
Big Rig took over, “So you see these 'spirits' and then ask them to modify powers.” At Taylor's nod he continued, “and you can tell the difference between Case 53s and normal parahumans at a glance.” Taylor nodded again. “Fascinating, but you can't modify or actively detect Case 53s.”  
  
“I've been trying to fix Newter. His spirit is doing better but it's really slow. I'd say another week perhaps until his spirit is healed.”  
  
“And the 'spirits' affect the mental state of the parahuman?” asked Big Rig.  
  
“Um, yes, but serious changes tend to be rare. Um, all of you are motivated to be workaholics, but none of your spirits are very loud.”  
  
“But you could stop our powers from affecting us,” Glace said.  
  
“Yes, I've done it before. There were some side effects, but that was an extreme case.”  
  
“We'll have to think about that.” Big Rig glanced at his watch, “We have a list of questions we want answered while Cranial looks you over. She should be set up now.” He leverage himself up and headed towards the door Cranial had gone through.  
  
“Stay here and enjoy yourselves,” ordered Faultline.  
  
Glace led Faultline and Taylor to Glace's lab. Considering the rest of the Toybox the lab was simple, clean, and without mad scientist accoutrements, not even a preserved brain or a Jacob's Ladder. Taylor didn't trust it.  
  
The helmets helped put her at ease. Large, black, and shiny with a large number of blinking lights that had to be useless. Cranial fit one on Taylor and another on Glace. It was surprisingly comfortable.  
  
“Right, now this will just passively monitor you. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. It is literally incapable of doing anything like causing a stroke or making your head explode. I mean to say that it's perfectly safe. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. So don't worry, okay?”  
  
“Okay?” Taylor said.  
  
“Great! I'm firing it up.” Taylor felt a low hum on the back of her teeth. It rose in pitch steadily until she could hear it and then continued to rise. Becoming louder. Becoming painful. And then disappeared. “There you go. All started up.”  
  
“Here you go,” Big Rig thrust a piece of paper into Taylor's hands.  
  
“I'm ready whenever you are,” Glace said.  
  
Glace's spirit was a blue skinned fairy the size of a Labrador with wings made of frosted ice. She flittered around the lab poking and cooing over the equipment. _“Hi,”_ said Taylor.  
  
“ _Oh,_ _a visitor. Welcome to my humble abode.”_ The fairy smiled, her teeth were pointed, and curtsied.  
  
“ _I'm afraid I can't return the compliment,”_ she gestured up at her helmet.  
  
“ _No, no, I quite understand. Cranial's work tends to be a little... unwieldy,”_ she sniffed and flipped her hair.  
  
“ _Right._ _I have a list of questions to ask you.”_  
  
“ _Ask away, dearie.”_  
  
Taylor read, _“_ _Can you cease the blackboxing of Tinker tech?”_  
  
“ _Do you mean let everyone just see the innards of my creations? Oh, that wouldn't do. 'Twould be horrible, awful. I'd be a laughingstock.”_  
  
 _Taylor's eyebrow rose. “I disagree. A flower is pretty, true. But it is only under close inspection that the true beauty and complexity come to the surface.”_  
  
Taylor kept on going down the list, the back and forth went on a while until finally, _“Do you know where metahuman powers and abilities come from?”_  
  
“ _No_ _pe,”_ she said popping the 'p', _“_ _Big ol' mystery._ _”_  
  
“ _Thank you._ _Have a lovely day._ _”_  
  
“ _And you too dear.”_  
  
Big Rig held the list out to Taylor expectantly. She ran a finger down the list. “Yes. Yes. Yes. No. Yes. Yes. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.”  
  
“Well, that's informative,” Big Rig cocked his head to the side. “Seems to support the prevalent theory, but we'll have to go over this and Cranial's recordings.”  
  
“Right. Great. Can we get this off my head now?”  
  
“Absolutely. Just have to power it down. Wouldn't want anything to go wrong. Not that anything could go wrong. Because it's one hundred percent perfectly safe. Safe as houses. There you go.” Cranial lifted the helmet off of Taylor. “Now do you have any feelings of irritation, nausea, shooting pains behind your right eye? An urge to commit violence to my person?”  
  
“No, I'm feeling fine. Should I not be?”  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
Big Rig pulled her back. “I'll take it from here, Cranial. You go over that data.” He helped pull Taylor out of her chair. “That's quite something you got there, little lady.”  
  
Taylor bit back a retort. Compared to Big Rig everybody was little. “Thanks, just sort of luck of the draw, isn't it?”  
  
“A healthy way of looking at it. Let's go talk with Daria and see what services we can set up here.”  
  
“Just a sec.” Taylor turned to Glace who was still under the tender ministration of Cranial, “Glace, if you build that freeze ray it'll be easier to concentrate on other projects. Okay, let's go. What's the prevalent theory?”  
  
“That powers are artificial in nature and not some unknown law of the universe at work. It's been the accepted hypothesis for a while. This just adds more evidence.”  
  
We walked back to the foyer where the rest of the crew were over by Dodge discussing something that Taylor was pretty sure she didn't want to know.  
  
Faultline broke off with Big Rig to dicker. Taylor left them to their bargaining and walked over to the rest. They seemed to be talking about making another pocket dimension and something about LARPing. Taylor was right, she didn't want to know.  


x x x

  
The drive back to the Palanquin was noisy. Newter and Emily were arguing over the mechanics for the game they were making with Dodge. Elle kept on interjecting with random pieces of lore and world creation while Gregor played referee.  
  
“So what did you think, Taylor?” asked Daria.  
  
“They're crazy.”  
  
“Oh, you can’t help that," said Daria, "we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad."  
  
Taylor laughed, “How do you know I'm mad?”  
  
“You must be, or you wouldn't have come here.”


	12. Chapter 12

Subduction 2.2  
  
A gaudy giant trundled into the ocean, grasped the bow of a ship and hauled it back onto land. Once on the shore an army of multi-limbed robots descended and started disassemby. Welding torches, diamond saws and devices too esoteric for the layman to identify with the naked eye stripped the ship down. The remnants lifted onto a conveyor built leading to a portal, on one end Brockton Bay, on the other a blank expanse devoid of light and color. One of the Toy Box's storage dimensions, after storing the metal all humidity would be removed and the metal would remain there until it could be resmelted and used for new projects.  
  
A rapt audience watched from street level from behind police barricades. Despite the fame and media coverage capes received, actually seeing parahumans perform was still a rare occurrence and a thousand ton mech easily overshadowed Parian's puppet performances.  
  
On a roof across the street Faultline and her crew were having a barbecue and watching the show with Big Rig and Bauble and celebrating the wanton destruction in front of them. Gregor was taking the rare opportunity—for him—to sun bathe.  
  
“If we went after the feet he would topple over,” said Newter pointing at Toy Soldier's giant suit.  
  
Spitfire shook her head, “But we could take him out if we went after the head.”  
  
Newter snorted. “Only an idiot would put the command unit in the head. He's obviously in the chest protected by a few feet of armor.”  
  
“Common sense has nothing to do with it,” Spitfire said, “He'd want the best view so he'd put the cockpit in the head and the eye would offer a weak point.”  
  
Daria swished her piña colada. “Entry point is where the right scapula would be. Toy Soldier is definitely in the chest.”  
  
“Yep. In the chest,” Big Rig agreed. “So how would you take him out?”  
  
“You're kidding right? Walk up and start dicing. The only danger would be if those little droids had any ranged weaponry. But considering that this is a work crew I probably wouldn't have any problem.”  
  
“Containment foam and fire. Lots of fire,” Spitfire smirked.  
  
Elle tapped her chin, “Giant guillotine. No, wait, sink it in a swamp. Or maybe a landslide. Or-”  
  
“We get the idea, Labyrinth. Bullshit. All of you, complete bullshit,” Newter groused.  
  
“Is Newter depressed? He is!” laughed Spitfire. “What's wrong? All the women you know can beat you without breaking a sweat?”  
  
Newter stood in the classic George Washington crossing the Delware pose. One foot on the ice chest, one hand point accusingly at the assembled, “You'll get yours. You'll all get yours. When my brother amphibians come to the surface we shall rule the world!”  
  
“Cool it with the monologuing, Newter, we have company. Now wave to the nice man.”  
  
Faultline's crew waved to a perturbed floating Aegis. “Under the authority granted to me-”  
  
“Are you sure that you want to do that?” Faultline interrupted, “Start a fight surrounded by civilians against a few citizens out to enjoy the show?”  
  
Aegis stood in midair arms across his chest. “You're villains.”  
  
Faultline took another sip. “Ex-villains actually. We've decided to turn over a new leaf. Guess you haven't heard yet.”  
  
That seemed to take Aegis back a notch. He paused at a loss for words before biting out, “You can't just decide that you aren't villains. You've still broken the law.”  
  
Faultline stood to fetch another drink, “We're working on that.”  
  
Big Rig put down his beer and stretched. “Don't worry kid, they're with me and have no intention of doing anything but drinking a couple of beers and watching the show.”  
  
“Why would we? We paid for it.”  
  
Big Rig nodded in agreement, “That too.”  
  
“Big Rig, you should know that these individuals are known villains and associating will reflect poorly on you and your organization.”  
  
“Didn't you listen to the lady, kid? They're ex-villains now.”  
  
Aegis ground his teeth. “It doesn't work like that.”  
  
“Details, details,” Faultline said. “Want a beer? Oh, sorry, you're a minor. Oh no, how terrible of me, I suppose my law breaking ways have become a habit.”  
  
“You seem awfully relaxed about this.” Miss Militia called out. Brockton's top three heroes had arrived. Arrayed along one end of the roof stood Miss Militia, Armsmaster, and Dauntless.  
  
“Again, we aren't currently breaking any laws, we have no intention of breaking any laws, and you aren't going to start a fight when we're surrounded by civilians. Anyone want a burger?”  
  
“Ma'am,” called out Aegis, “apparently they paid for that,” he pointed towards the cleanup.  
  
“I heard,” Armsmaster replied, “Doesn't matter. You're still villains.”  
  
Faultline raised a finger. “Ex-villains.”  
  
Miss Militia shook her head, “If you're serious about that you'll come with us quietly.”  
  
“Let me think about that.” Faultline made a series of thoughtful hums and grunts as she grabbed a burger and started adding condiments. She took a big bite and answered with her mouth full, “No. Not happening.”  
  
Dauntless hefted his spear, “You can't think that you could take us all on.”  
  
Faultline laughed almost choking on her burger, “Easily.”  
  
“Big Rig, Bauble, if the Toybox gets involved in this-”  
  
“We aren't going to do anything,” Bauble said, “We're just here for the burgers.”  
  
“We wouldn't need their help. But you don't want that to happen. A group of villains looking to go straight.” She pointed at the shore. “Giving back to the community. Do you really want to stop that?”  
  
The heroes all looked like they were developing a headache. Miss Militia rubbed a temple, “Director Piggot is saying to leave you alone for now. Don't think that this means anything.”  
  
“Wait,” Faultline held up a hand, “before you go, a question for Junior: do you remember how you got your powers?”  
  
“What sort of question is that?” Aegis rubbed the top of his head, “Of course I remember.”  
  
“Really? You remember everything? Didn't wake up in a ditch somewhere? Tell me,” she walked over the sunbathing Gregor and yanked up his sleeve showing off his omega tattoo, “does this symbol mean anything to you?”  
  
“N-no,” Aegis stuttered, “never seen it before.”  
  
“Thanks.” She gave Aegis a cheerful grin and a little wave, “Have a nice day.”  
  
“What was that about?” Bauble asked around her hotdog.  
  
“According to Gizmo he's a Case 53.”  
  
“Armsmaster should still be able to hear us, you know,” Big Rig said.  
  
“Let him,” shrugged Faultline, “The secret is eroding pretty quickly anyway.”  
  
“Why would Aegis lie about being a Case 53?” asked Gregor.  
  
Faultline shook her head, “It doesn't add up. He still has a normal human appearance and that clumsy lie had more fear behind it than awkwardness. You've heard the rumors?”  
  
“A mysterious organization sells powers?” said Bauble skeptically.  
  
Faultline lay back and soaked in the rays. “It seems more and more likely.”  


x x x

  
Back at the Palanquin Elle lounged, feet on the coffee table. “Think the Protectorate will leave us alone now?”  
  
“We were never very high on their to do list,” answered Daria. “But with us announcing that we've seen the light they should be even more hesitant to stir up shit.”  
  
“I did not like being exposed,” Gregor grumbled.  
  
“Meh,” shrugged Daria, “We could have taken them.”  
  
“Daria, you gotta see this,” Emily plopped her laptop down on the coffee table, “Über and Leet published a new episode and it. Is. Awesome.”  
  
“About time.” They huddled around Emily's laptop.  
  
“Wait a sec. It has to buffer. Stupid site can't save the stupid buffer,” Emily righteously complained about the inferior construction of the site.  
  
The video opened with a blue blur passing the camera, the shot panning to the left where Über stood in red overalls giving a peace sign. “Welcome viewers to the Über and Leet show. Today we have decided to return to the classics. The running, the jumping, the stomping of old school arcades. Starring Leet as Sonic and me as Mario. Now some of the scum out there might not know this but Sonic and Mario were the main characters of Sega and Nintendo.” He crossed himself, kissed his pointer and index finger then raised his hand to the sky. “May they rest in peace. At least Nintendo shall live ever on in the paradise known as Aleph.”  
  
Leet skidded to a stop next to Über. He had dyed his hair blue and put into spikes and wore a blue track suit and massively oversized red sneakers. “Two dueling companies. Two platforming characters. That's right folks! This episode me and Über aren't doing co-op. It's competition time, baby. Now we've split Brockton Bay between the two of us and whoever can get the most rings before time runs out wins.”  
  
“It's going to be down to Leet's new found speed and my ability to... jump. That doesn't sound fair.”  
  
“And it wouldn't be fair, Über. Except if you look at the map,” with a ding a map appeared on the screen showing blue splotches spread throughout Brockton and a cluster of red spots, “my locations are spread throughout the Bay while yours are tightly clustered.”  
  
“Thanks for that Leet. Now, honored viewers, time starts... now.”  
  
Leet leaned forward, a red blur appearing around his legs until with a jerk he sped off. The camera accelerated trying to keep him in its view, it wasn't very successful as Leet ran straight up the side of a building. Unfortunately physics didn't cooperate with expectations and Leet continued to increase altitude when he reached the edge of the roof. The camera caught a split second image of a screaming Leet before the video was replaced by two animated catgirls dragging a 'Technical Difficulties, BRB' sign across the screen.  
  
The video returned with Über bouncing across rooftops ring ten. Each jump carried him ten feet into the air accompanied by a boing sound effect. He finally jumped down to street level and pointed across the street at a jewelry store. “"It's a-me, Mario!” he shouted throwing a fireball at the door. The door blew inward and Über jumped punching the air with one fist.  
  
The camera switched back to Leet speeding down the street in a straight line. The camera managing to keep pace only to lose him when he made a hard right to avoid an incoming Velocity.  
  
“Guess the prototype is finished,” mused Daria.  
  
“They're not exactly hiding it,” Emily said, “I'm just surprised that they don't have a life counter on the screen.”  
  
He ran down an alley for several moments before Velocity had caught up to him. “Leet, you're under arrest.”  
  
Leet held up a two finger salute. “You'll never get me alive, copper!”  
  
Velocity reached out to grab Leet but Leet made an instant 90 degree turn and ran up a brick wall. This time instead of launching himself into the air he defied physics and reoriented to run across the roof. His escape ended abruptly when he ran into an air conditioning unit. The animated cats returned wallpapering 'Technical Difficulties, BRB' over the screen.  
  
The video returned to Über who had just finished shoveling the jewelry displays into his hat, the hat appearing to be bigger on the inside than the outside. He ran out of the shop only to be smashed into the ground by Glory Girl who had been hovering above the entrance waiting for him. He skid down the street before leaping to his feet.  
  
“If it isn't Glory Hole. What a pleasure to see you.”  
  
Glory Girl flew at him cocking one fist behind her shoulder. “I'm still a minor you pedo creep!”  
  
Über timed his jump so that landed on Glory Girl driving her face into the pavement. She spun around and snarled at him. Über calmly brushed his facial hair. “This mustache isn't just for show, little girl.”  
  
“Disgusting pervert.” She launched herself at him again both hands reaching for his throat. Only for a fireball to explode in her face blinding her. Über jumped away laughing in a terrible Italian accent.  
  
Newter winced, “Not cool man, not cool.”  
  
Emily nodded, “Glory Girl is going gut him.”  
  
The view returned to Leet once again running down a road. This time being chased by Armsmaster on his motorbike. Armsmaster was swiping at Leet with his halberd while still maintaining control of his bike in a remarkable display of dexterity. Every time a strike came close to Leet he sped up a little more. The video had a speedometer in the corner reading 130 mph.  
  
Leet juked onto a side street forcing Armsmaster to skid after leaving a long black streak from his rear tire. Curling his arm around his halberd like an old fashioned lance Armsmaster shot a series of darts into Leet's back causing him to flip head over heels. The cats rolled the 'Technical Difficulties, BRB' sign back across the screen and the video returned to Über's escape from Glory Girl.  
  
Über was racing through a building, knocking down doors until he smashed through a window feet first. Glory Girl had been waiting on high and swooped down to intercept. Just before she struck him he grew a striped tail and rose two feet in the air causing Glory Girl to narrowly miss him. He then kicked the alley wall somehow making him turn 180 degrees and shoot up ten feet so that he could kick the opposite wall. Within seconds he was on the roof and legging it.  
  
Glory Girl rose above the lip of the roof like an avenging angel. Mussed blonde hair in a frizzy halo around her head miniskirt flapping and her aura a visible golden glow.  
  
Über took one look behind him and jumped down to street level. “Mama Mia. I'd love to stay around for some cake, but my princess is in another castle.” He stuck out his hand and with an audible crack was pulled off his feet by a blue blur. The view switched to behind Leet as he sped along. Über standing beside the road sticking out an arm, Leet grabbing the arm and pulling Über behind him, Über flapping behind him horizontal to the road. The screen faded to black.  
  
It returned to Leet and Über, still in costume, sitting in front of a green screen.  
  
Über slapped his knee and chortled, “That was a fun episode, Leet.”  
  
“It sure was, Über. A surprising amount of resistance from the heroes tonight.”  
  
“You didn’t even manage to pull of a heist, Leet.”  
  
“But, but,” Leet wagged a finger, “I did fight off two members of the Protectorate to your one member of New Wave.”  
  
Über gave the camera a perverted leer, “Glory Girl is so tsundere for me. Still, by the rules that we lay down I'm the winner which means that you get: The Punishment Round.”  
  
Leet gasped melodramatically, “What horrors await me?”  
  
“This!” He pulled a bowl into the scene, “an entire pound of habanero peppers!”  
  
“The horror, the horror. No, say it isn't so,” Leet mock wailed.  
  
Daria turned off the television. “And that's enough of Tweedledee and Tweedledum.” She sighed, “Damn, they have no subtlety at all. At least they've proven their product.” She walked out of the room already tapping on her phone.


	13. Chapter 13

Faultline 2.3 - Colin  
  
Armsmaster spun slowly in the town square. The soil extended twenty feet before terminating at the boundary, a force field, past that the geometry of the space became noticeably non-euclidean, infinite and bounded, only within the force field did the space approximate euclidean geometry closely enough to allow human life. Holographic projectors gave the appearance of a sky. The simulated sun directly supplied 60% of the heat, the remaining 40% was reflected from the force field in the sky with a trivial amount from waste heat. Heat sinks under the ground allowed believable day and night cycles. The town itself contained further nuances: laboriously recreated TV and movie sets, basic AI and multiple body types for the townsfolk. A frivolous use of abilities.  
  
The bastards had something he wanted and he would have to jump through their hoops, postponing the appointment at the last minute. At least they were providing dinner. He pushed his way into the diner. Quaint. Nostalgic. Not a bad design job. Almost certainly ripped off from a movie, but Big Rig did solid construction work.  
  
A silver bell chimed when he opened the door. The—no heartbeat, no circulation, slightly above room temperature—robot at the counter greeted him and called him 'dearie.' _Annoying_.  
  
A girl in fatigues stiffened, hastily put her burger back on the counter and flipped down a welding mask. She matched the new Tinker—Gizmo—Leet had mentioned in that goddamn podcast that Armsmaster listened to every bloody week. Tall and gangly. Worked for Faultline. Height matched. Weight matched.  
  
He sat on the stool next to her and held up a finger for the menu. “That's an interesting costume. Do you have a _tailor_?” She flinched. _Bingo_.  
  
She leaned over the counter and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. Clicking the pen for a few seconds she scribbled, 'I can neither nor confirm anything that could reveal personal details. Sorry.'  
  
“That's fine. I'm just going to sit here and talk to myself while I wait for my order. Steak, medium rare and hold the fries. Recently we, the Protectorate, ran into a newly triggered teenager and handled things poorly. I think we, no, I frightened her off.”  
  
Gizmo waited for a few seconds before her shoulders drooped and she responded with a poorly written. 'How?'  
  
“We only found out about her when one of our Wards underwent a severe personality change. We were afraid of an unknown Master and then... I screwed things up. Instead of meeting with her I treated her like a suspect. I'm not really a detective, I make up for that with my technology. She hadn't known that a Ward was attacked and said that she had never attacked anyone. All true. She never had attacked anyone, she only defended herself from a threat. If I was slightly more patient I could have offered her a place in the Wards.”  
  
'And then what? Masters aren't treated well by the PRT.'  
  
“That's not true. We have a Ward here in Brockton Bay who's a Master, Gallant. We let people think he's a Blaster, but really he's a Master with a few visual effects. His basic power set is almost identical to Heartbreaker's. So no, we don't discriminate against Masters.”  
  
'So this mysterious Master,' Armsmaster stifled a snort, 'would have to work for you. Or what? The Birdcage like so many others?'  
  
“That's a little unfair. We don't send people to the Birdcage. The courts and the jury send people to the Birdcage.”  
  
'All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.' _Trite. Cliche._  
  
“Edmund Burke. What about, 'At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice he is the worst,' Aristotle. I am an officer of the law, I struggle to uphold the law. It is up to the judiciary to determine whether the law is unjust. And what about you? Are you going to sit around doing nothing?”  
  
'I am doing something. More than you.'  
  
“With villains?”  
  
'Ex-villains.'  
  
“They have warrants for their arrest.”  
  
'That'll go away soon.' _Rather a lot of confidence. Mind control? Bribery?_ 'And you? Why haven't the Merchants been arrested?'  
  
“We don't have enough manpower. The best we can do if there is a gang war is act to contain the violence. If we had more heroes we could afford to be more proactive.”  
  
'What's stopping you now? The Merchants lose a little territory and the PRT calls it quits, game over. Why can't you find and arrest them NOW?'  
  
“It's not that easy-”  
  
She slapped a note down in front of him. 'Squealer and Skidmark live at Worth and Lexington'.  
  
 _Interesting. How much data does Faultline have?_ “There are other considerations. We can't just go after one gang without starting a war between the remainders.”  
  
'The Merchants attacked a hospital' she scratched into the pad, tearing through the paper. 'They killed how many people last month? And you do nothing.'  
  
“There are other considerations,” he repeated. “We can't provoke a gang war. There aren't enough heroes to bring down the gangs.”  
  
'Bullshit. Bring in the Triumvirate for a weekend.'  
  
“And then the villains go to ground for a while. Even if we do catch them what about the next Endbringer battle? If we do that how many villains will show up?”  
  
'Bullshit.' She left the note on the counter and stomped off, taking her burger to a booth. _Kids._  
  
She finished her meal and walked out. He finished his steak, perfectly seasoned, and was wondering if it he had time to order dessert when Glace came in. He swiveled around on his stool. “You did that on purpose,” he accused Glace.  
  
“Yes. I thought you would like another opportunity to talk with her.”  
  
“I... appreciate that. You do realize that she is a powerful Master, you need to be careful around her.”  
  
“Right,” She laughed. “Master.”  
  
“She's not a Master?”  
  
“I can neither confirm or deny.”  
  
Her lab was a mess of wires and pipes. Armsmaster felt an itch in the back of his head, an urge to clean and organize. He bit down on it and focused on the room's centerpiece. A simple box with an arrow pointing in and an arrow pointing out, the casing designed to be easily removed.  
  
Glace ran her hand across the box. “Do you like it? Proof of concept, throw in a banana and chocolate sauce in at this end and the perfect frozen banana comes out that end.” She unlatched the cover and gestured for him to look it over.  
  
Armsmaster bent over to inspect it. The piece was obviously tinker tech. The piece was obviously not tinker tech. The skill that had gone into its creation and the knowledge required to make it were supernatural. Yet Armsmaster was able to understand its construction just as easily as he could a car or an abacus. Normally tinker tech was obtuse, the way that Armsmaster remembered calculus to be once upon a time before he triggered, understanding coming and disappearing in short bursts.  
  
“Gizmo made this?”  
  
“No,” she shook her head, “Poor girl doesn't know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. I made it.”  
  
“How?” He flipped it around and pried off the power supply, turning it around in his hands, dimensional variation, uses ambient energy and dumps waste heat in another dimension, “How did you make this?”  
  
Glace attempted to give an enigmatic smile, it came off as a smirk. “That would be telling.”  
  
“Please, enough games. This changes everything.”  
  
“All will be explained soon.” She slid a folder in front of him. “We'd like you to take this to your superiors.”  
  
Armsmaster flipped through it. Mostly legalese, members of the first party to members of the second party, the diagrams and specifications though were intriguing. Short range teleportation, flash cloning without the brain, teleportation of the brain into the new body, and recycling of the old. “This is impressive. Explains Leet's recent stunt at least. Far beyond anything that I expected the Toybox to come up with.”  
  
“We didn't. Hence the additional conditions on top of the cost.”  
  
He continued to read through the paperwork. “Pardons for Faultline's gang and Über and Leet? I do not see the PRT extending pardons, even for these.”  
  
“That would be a shame. The pardons are non-negotiable. If the PRT is unwilling to pay for the Vita-Chambers we will simply have to find another buyer. And if there is no incentive to sell to lawful entities, then,” she shrugged and waved her hand around in a loose circle well, “we can charge a lot more per unit.”  
  
 _Ah, not bribery or mind control. Simple coercion. Pleasant surprise._  
  
“Über and Leet I could understand, but what the hell does Faultline have to do with any of this?”  
  
“The big reveal will happen after you've place your order.”  
  
“If this is one of Leet's inventions then there is no way for you to mass produce. Unless...” He glanced at the banana freezer.  
  
“Yes. Freely reproducible.” She lovingly patted her invention.  
  
“And what will stop us from just buying one and reverse engineering?”  
  
She shrugged again. “We're counting on it. That's why the deal is for bulk. Of course we'll expect recurring contracts or we'll have to find other buyers.”  
  
He tapped the folder, straightening out the papers within. “I'll talk to my superiors. I assume that I'm here to provide proof of concept.”  
  
“Indeed.” She led him back up he street to an Arcade that conspicuously didn't match the time period for the rest of the town. Annoying hum from neon lights, video games with their bleeps and bloops, it was a tacky abomination. Leet waited inside to Armsmaster's expectant disappointment.  
  
“Leet.” Armsmaster's hand tightened around his halberd. Leet waved merrily before putting a pistol to his head, smiling, and pulling the trigger. “What the hell!”  
  
The body shrank, approached a point, then disappeared.  
  
“So what'd you think?” Leet asked coming in from a side door marked 'Employees Only.'  
  
Armsmaster glared at the villainous Tinker, hand clenching and relaxing on his weapon. “I would have been satisfied with just seeing the machine.”  
  
“Live demonstration, man. Picture's worth a thousand words.” He leaned against the wall, put two fingers to his temple, “And you can't tell me that you didn't enjoy seeing my brains splattered on the floor.”  
  
“No, I didn't.”  
  
Leet casually turned and slouched back through the door. “Vita-Chamber Mark One through here, boss man.”  
  
“Mark One?”  
  
Glace replied, “It's not replicable. We'll be providing you with the Mark Two.”  


x x x

  
Armsmaster trailed Miss Militia back to her office from the meeting. Little had been decided other than funneling the Toybox's offer up the ladder. The news that the Toybox has reproducible Tinker tech was met with incredulity. Armsmaster was glad that he had insisted Dragon be allowed in the meeting, she promised to investigate and verify his findings.  
  
Miss Militia looked up from her paperwork at the knock. Armsmaster stood in the doorway. He had avoided her for the last few weeks, ever since she took his job. Meetings, patrols, a civil word in the hallway, but nothing more.“Armsmaster-”  
  
“It was necessary.” He cut to the chase in his usual brusque manner, avoiding tact or pleasantries, “We both know that it was only a matter of time.”  
  
“Still, I don't like that you were thrown under the bus.”  
  
“It's for the best. We need to talk about Aegis.”  
  
“What about him?”  
  
“I don't know. That's the problem. When we were leaving Faultline to her picnic I picked up this conversation.” He set his helmet on the desk, pointing towards Miss Militia. He tapped the top and the helmet began to playback:  
  
“What was that about?” A muffled voice asked. Female.  
  
“According to Gizmo he's a Case 53.” Female.  
  
“Armsmaster should still be able to hear us, you know,” deep male voice.  
  
“Let him, the secret is eroding pretty quickly anyway.” Second female.  
  
“Why would Aegis lie about being a Case 53?” a second male voice said.  
  
“It doesn't add up. He still has a normal human appearance and that clumsy lie had more fear behind it than awkwardness. You've heard the rumors?” Second female.  
  
“A mysterious organization sells powers?” First female.  
  
“It seems more and more likely.” Second female.  
  
Miss Militia sat for a moment, organizing the information she had just heard. “Who's Gizmo?”  
  
“Taylor Hebert. Pretending to be a Tinker, or maybe actually a Tinker, at this point I have no clue what she can do, I'm willing to bet on anything from the second coming of Scion to a non-powered red herring. Leet mentioned her in his podcast. Saw her at the Toybox.”  
  
“You contacted Ms. Hebert?” Her gun transformed to a larger caliber. “Why didn't you report that?”  
  
“I'm telling you now. And I'd prefer to keep this unofficial for now.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“If it's nothing but a distraction then the PRT needs to focus on the Vita-Chambers, if there is something... a conspiracy of some sort, we need to approach it carefully. Besides, something doesn't add up. The Toybox has a Tinker who can produce replicable tinker tech, Leet made something _I'm_ envious of, and Faultline is trying to go legit.”  
  
“Can't believe how wrong you were about that...”  
  
“It was a reasonable conclusion based on the available data. If given the same evidence again I would still say Empire.”  
  
“Of course, Colin, of course. So Gizmo can identify powers-”  
  
He nodded and tapped his helmet, “Truth. Seventy-two percent probability assuming Faultline is within one deviation of the norm, no visuals and the distance doesn't improve matters.”  
  
“-and claims Aegis is a Case 53. But can we trust her? I mean, do you really think Aegis bought his powers?”  
  
“I don't know. He was lying about recognizing the Case 53 tattoo.”  
  
“Of course he was. He's friends with Weld, he's read the reports, he knows what the tattoo looks like.”  
  
“Then why did he lie about it?”  
  
“Perhaps he wasn't clear on what's confidential and what he can freely discuss. Perhaps he didn't want to give any information to a villain. Armsmaster, we are not going to start a witch hunt.”  
  
“Perhaps not a witch hunt, but a few quick questions.”  
  
Her weapon transformed into a knife, she absently caught in midair and started trimming her fingernails. “Fine. But I'm the one who is going to do the questioning.”  
  
“Understood.”  
  
In truth while the oil rig was the official base of the Protectorate, unofficially the Protectorate members kept offices in the PRT building, the physical separation being too awkward for regular business. What would have taken over an hour due to waiting on the ferry was instead a minute walk to the Ward's common room.  
  
The Wards were sprawled around their common room. Tour hours had ended and the Wards had, proverbially and literally, kicked their feet up. Homework was lying on a table, the TV was playing in the background, Vista was searching for something under the couch—she had expanded the space to where she could fit her entire upper body in the crack.  
  
“Armsmaster, Miss Militia,” Aegis looked up from his homework and nodded his head respectfully, “what can I do for you?”  
  
“Walk with us.”  
  
They strolled out of the common room, when they passed various offices and the cafeteria in favor of the exit. At his quizzical quirk of the mouth Miss Militia explained, “We have some questions. We'd prefer that they be off the record for now.”  
  
Aegis glanced between the two and shuffled back, extending his personal space. “What's this about?”  
  
“What do you know about Gregor's tattoo?”  
  
“I don't know anything about that stupid tattoo.”  
  
Armsmaster tapped his helmet. “Lie detector.”  
  
“Fine.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I didn't break any laws and refuse to speak any more about it.”  
  
Armsmaster nodded to Miss Militia, “Truth.”  
  
“Until you do tell me I'm suspending you from active duty. Gallant will be taking charge of the Wards in the meantime.”  
  
Aegis grit his teeth. “I haven't done anything wrong.”  
  
“It's not about right or wrong. It's about trust, it's that you are hiding something from us, something this important, is breaking that trust.”  


x x x

  
Colin and Hannah sat in a seedy pizza joint, sadly unknown for the high quality of its pizza, started by a Vietnamese couple, they had canceled their plans for pho after a long walk by the boardwalk had shown a surplus of pho and a dearth of pizza. A pepperoni pie had been placed between the two of them, of sufficient size and quality for them to spend the last ten minutes silently eating.  
  
Colin wiped his mouth, “Some sort of conspiracy.”  
  
“We already knew that. Case 53s appearing all over the world, branded. What the conspiracy was doing though... selling powers? The Case 53s used as guinea pigs?”  
  
“Wouldn't explain where the Case 53s came from. Some sort of cloning or breeding program perhaps, doesn't matter. What should we do?”  
  
“We need to bring in more people,” she said toying with her straw.  
  
“But if Aegis is in on this then anybody could be part of it.”  
  
“What about the Case 53s?”  
  
“How many of them actually lost their memories? Could any of them be faking? And if there is some sort of shadow organization they could monitor or implant orders inside of the Case 53s.”  
  
“Colin,” Hannah rubbed her nose, “we can't operate with that level of paranoia.”  
  
“Right. First thing we need to do is to be able to identify who purchased powers.”  
  
“Gizmo.”  
  
“She is the ideal candidate.”  
  
Hannah lifted three fingers and dropped them down, one at at a time. “Unknown powers. Unknown abilities. Attacked a Ward.” Colin handed her a folded paper. “What is this?”  
  
“She's willing to offer some limited information, the Merchant's hideout. Maybe she got it from Faultline. Maybe it's connected to whatever her ability is. Something is going on with her.”  
  
“But you don't know what.”  
  
“I think we'll find out soon.The demands for pardons, Faultline talking about Aegis where I could hear, they'll tell us soon. After they've removed our leverage.” He switched topics, “Aegis... Should we contact the Triumvirate?”  
  
“Not until we get more evidence. We _should_ get the old gang back together.”  
  
“I'm meeting Chevalier next week. If you could contact Mouse Protector?”  
  
Hannah put down her drink and stared at Colin, she sighed. “Crap. You haven't heard.”  
  
He closed his eyes in anticipation. “Heard what?”  
  
“Last week. The Nine got her.”  
  
“Shit.” He wrapped his hands around his coffee, letting the heat burn his palms. “She kept asking me out, do you remember that.”  
  
“You always turned her down.”  
  
“She was annoying. But now, maybe just one date...”  
  
Hannah leaned forward and squeezed his arm. “Don't worry about it, Colin. It was a bet.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“We bet her that if she could get you to go on a date with her, we'd buy that Yamasaki she was always ogling.”  
  
Colin laughed quietly into his cup. “That sounds exactly like her. Do you remember the time she replace the toothpaste with wasabi?”  
  
“You had just been introduced to coffee and were coming off an all-nighter. We could hear your scream from the other side of the base. How about when she started the rumor that Legend was gay?”  
  
“Heh, and then he called that press conference.” Colin chuckled for a while, sobering, “When's the funeral?”  
  
Hannah winced. “Colin, they didn't kill her. They _got_ her.”  
  
“Shit.” Colin's stomach cramped. Casualties were a fact of life, every Endbringer fight, every cape battle, hell, every time he apprehended a mugger there was a chance he could die, but the Slaughterhouse Nine were connoisseurs of fates worse than death.  
  
Tinny music, some pop song Colin couldn't recognize echoed from the kitchen. The ceiling tiles had yellow splotched from water damage, it curved around and formed a face smiling down at him, he tilted his head until it leered. “Shit.”  
  
Hannah threw down enough to cover the dinner. “Come on. There's a bar down the street.”


End file.
